


Old Enemies and New Beginnings

by sesheta_66



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Azkaban, Curse Breaker Draco Malfoy, Death Eater Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy in Azkaban, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Grimmauld Place, H/D Career Fair 2017, Harry Potter Has a Saving People Thing, M/M, Malfoy Manor, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Trials
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2018-12-31 02:05:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12122163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sesheta_66/pseuds/sesheta_66
Summary: In post-war wizarding Britain, there's no place for ex-Death Eaters. Lucky for Draco, Harry’s pretty good at this saving people thing.





	Old Enemies and New Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [momatu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/momatu/gifts).



> For Prompt #[30](https://hd-fan-fair.livejournal.com/124297.html?thread=4814985#t4814985).
> 
> Momatu, I hope you enjoy where I went with your prompt. I do love me a good Harry helping people fic. :) And a big shout out to my awesome and speedy beta, dysonrules.
> 
>  **Career:** Draco – removing dark magic; Harry – Auror trainee/helping people  :)

Harry took his seat in the courtroom with some trepidation.  No matter how many times he’d been in Ministry courts, and no matter who was on trial, he’d never quite lost that frightened little boy feeling that the place would swallow him whole.  It remained today as intimidating as it had been when he’d been facing expulsion from Hogwarts.  He still looked around, fearing he’d see Umbridge sitting in the stands, eager to be rid of him.  Today the stands were fairly full, reporters as eager for a Death Eater story as they’d been when Harry had visited through Dumbledore’s pensieve.

"Draco Malfoy," the Chief Warlock said, causing silence to fall over the enormous room. "Please stand."

To his credit, despite all the negative publicity surrounding his trial, and the presence of several reporters who’d written scathing articles, Malfoy held his head high and back straight as he faced the Council of Magical Law to receive his sentence.

"On the charge of the attempted murder of Albus Dumbledore, the Council has accepted the agreement reached between the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and your defence team. As such, the charge has been dismissed.

"On the reduced charge, namely two counts of causing bodily harm to Miss Katie Bell and Mr Ronald Weasley, the Council finds you guilty."

The court erupted in loud murmurs accompanied by nods and some glares in Malfoy’s direction. He did not react outwardly to the vitriol and remained facing the Council.

"Silence in the courtroom," the Chief bellowed, his voice echoing in the vast space. He returned his attention to Malfoy and continued. "On the charge of aiding and abetting the break-in at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry by known Death Eaters, the Council finds you guilty."

This time, the Chief’s admonishment still fresh, the murmurs remained contained on the most part, with the nods and glares correspondingly more widespread.

"On the multiple charges against you for assault on students as a result of the break-in, the Council finds insufficient evidence to support your knowledge of the intent to cause harm, and finds you not guilty."

Forgetting themselves, several in attendance made clear their disagreement with this pronouncement before the Chief waved his wand to silence them once more. "There will be no further outbursts tolerated."

"On the charges of torture that occurred during Lord Voldemort’s time at Malfoy Manor, the Council accepts the assertion that you did not act of your own free will, and finds you not guilty."

The Chief shot a warning glance at the crowd, daring them to argue. The courtroom remained silent, but for the scrape of quills on parchment.

He returned his attention to the defence.  "Before sentencing, do you have anything else you wish to say on your own behalf?"

Malfoy took a long breath and let it out slowly, jaw clenched. "No, sir. I believe the testimony provided during the course of the trial was accurate and complete, and I don’t believe anything else I could say would add to my defence."

"Very well then."

"But --" Malfoy interrupted, "if the Council would permit, I would like to express my sincere apologies to those I’ve directly or indirectly hurt. I will accept the punishment the Council deems appropriate. Thank you."

Harry’s gut wrenched at Malfoy’s words. Did he realise just how unfair the Council was? Even after all these years, Harry remained angry over his own treatment and didn’t trust them as far as he could physically toss the lot of them across a Quidditch pitch. The rumblings from the attendees went unchecked and his stomach clenched.

"Very well." The Chief turned to the panel of members in attendance and nodded before returning his attention to Malfoy. "Mr Malfoy, you have been found guilty of crimes against your school and your classmates. The Council recognises that you were underage at the time of these offences and that you were under pressure to commit said crimes by someone much more powerful and threatening than you or your family. However..." He drew out the moment by glancing slowly over those present. Harry barely withheld a grimace. No good could come of antagonising the man now.

The Chief, satisfied he had everyone’s undivided attention, looked again to Malfoy. "However, you were not so young as to be incapable of making your own informed decisions, at least one of which could have and _should have_  been to seek help from a professor or your headmaster. For those ill-advised decisions – or lack thereof – and the tragic results, you are hereby sentenced to five years’ imprisonment."

"Five years?" The words spewed forth from Harry’s mouth before he’d even thought to say anything. "In Azkaban?"

The Chief’s head spun towards Harry, scowling. "Yes, Mr Potter, five years."

"But he was just a kid!" Harry knew that if Hermione were present, her fingers would be digging into his arms, and she’d be hissing at him to shut up.  Well she wasn’t here.

The Chief’s scowl deepened. "Yes," he said through clenched teeth. "We are aware, which is why the sentence is so light."

"But --"

"Sit down, Mr Potter!" Harry hadn’t even realised he’d jumped to his feet. He returned to his seat but scowled right back.

"We have already heard your testimony, and if you cannot – or will not – be quiet, you will be escorted from this courtroom. Am I clear?"

Harry nodded, fuming. He pointedly ignored the shocked indignation on the faces around the room. When he looked at Malfoy, hoping he hadn’t made things worse, he didn’t meet Harry’s eyes and his expression revealed nothing.

"As I was saying," the Chief continued, once again addressing Malfoy, "you are hereby sentenced to five years in prison. However ..." He looked pointedly at Harry before turning back to the defence. "We recognise that you were a virtual prisoner under Voldemort’s reign in your own home, and we will be applying that time towards your sentence. Add to that the time you have been either in Ministry custody or under house arrest, and you have approximately two years to be considered time served. As I’m sure your solicitor has informed you, parole may first be considered after one half of your sentence has been completed. You will therefore be eligible to apply for conditional release in about six months’ time."

Malfoy’s shoulders relaxed slightly and Harry’s did the same. The Chief let his eyes catch Harry’s briefly before he turned to address the Auror standing guard. "You may remove the prisoner."

And that was it. Six months. It would be hell, to be sure, but at least the Dementors were gone. Malfoy could handle it, couldn’t he? He’d got through Voldemort and the Death Eaters taking over his house. Surely he could do this. He’d have to. For his mother.

As he was escorted from the courtroom, Malfoy caught Harry’s eye and nodded. Harry nodded back, willing Malfoy to stay strong. Once he was gone, Harry turned his attention to Narcissa Malfoy. Since she remained under house arrest, but had been granted leave to attend her son’s trial, she had an Auror guard as well and had been seated in a secure area at the back of the courtroom. She remained composed but Harry could see something breaking behind her eyes. Surely the anger directed her son’s way didn’t help.

Harry crossed the room before he could think better of it and whispered to her, "I’ll come by the Manor tonight." She acknowledged with a brief movement before the Auror frowned at Harry and led her out.

***

Harry entered the Manor at seven o’clock, aware that visitors were to depart prior to eight each evening, as a condition of Narcissa’s house arrest. As an Auror-in-Training, Harry had been added to the list of those allowed on the premises. He couldn’t help feeling he owed the woman and, though he didn’t stop by often, he just couldn’t begrudge her what little company she got.

He felt the cool waft of magic scan him as he crossed the threshold and knew his magical signature had been logged.

"Harry Potter is to be following Binny into the drawing room." It wasn’t his first time at the Manor since the war, but the memories from the first time – he could still hear Hermione’s screams echoing in the place – still made his skin crawl.

"Mr Potter," Narcissa greeted him. She smiled and took his hand in hers before motioning him to sit. "I took the liberty of having tea prepared."

Harry helped himself to a cup, adding a healthy dose of milk and sugar before speaking. "Thank you. I --"

"No trouble at all."

"Mrs Malfoy, I --" He wasn’t sure what to say – and knew he couldn’t make anything better, no matter how much he wanted to – but ploughed on ahead anyway. "I’m sorry about today."

She waved his comment off. "Nonsense. You did everything you could." Aside from a slight quaver to her voice, she showed no outward signs of distress. "You did everything you could and more than most. I won’t soon forget, nor will Draco."

"I’ll visit him," Harry blurted out, not knowing why exactly, but sure in his conviction. "I don’t know if he’ll want me to or not – given our history, I may be the last person he wants to see him there – but I want to be sure he’s okay while he’s there. That they treat him properly."

Her hands shook slightly as she put down her cup, and she blinked rapidly. He looked around the room, anywhere but directly at her, not wanting the discomfort to worsen.

Narcissa had had the place redecorated and for that he was thankful.  Still formal and elegant, the colours were lighter and the open drapes made for an airier feel.  While he could still see Bellatrix’s wand aimed at Hermione, and hear her screams, the memories were distant in this new, brighter space.  He supposed she had her own haunting memories in this place that she wanted erased.

"You would do that?" Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper, and Harry marvelled at the strength of mothers.

"Of course." He felt a desire to help ease her pain, something he hadn’t felt compelled to do before. Sure, he’d wanted to show his appreciation for her help during the war, and after he’d witnessed what Voldemort had made Draco do, he’d wanted to do what was right by him, but never had he _wanted_ to lessen her suffering. "I’ll do everything I can to make sure his sentence isn’t any worse or any longer than it needs to be. You have my word."

Dropping her guard, she reached for a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. After a time, she looked at Harry. "They won’t let me visit him, you know. Won’t let me see my own son." Her shoulders shook slightly as she dabbed once more at her eyes.

Harry put down his own cup but resisted the pull to reach out to comfort her. She was a strong and proud woman and he doubted she’d thank him for that, particularly if it broke her composure. He folded his hands and leaned forward. "I know. And I’m sorry for that." And he was. No matter what they’d both done, he found it cruel that they would keep a mother away from her child. His father?  Well, he deserved what he got and Draco would be all the better for avoiding him. Then again, Lucius might get the chance to see him, despite the supposed restrictions, given that they were both locked away in Azkaban. "I can’t do anything to sway them, not as long as you remain on house arrest."

She nodded, brows furrowing in frustration.

"But I can pass along your wishes when I see him."

She reached for Harry’s clasped hands and clenched them in her own, like a drowning man might hold a lifeline. "You’re a good man, Harry Potter. Thank you."

***

Harry approached the dismal structure, as grey and foreboding as it had been when last he’d seen it, but thankfully without the bone-deep, soul-sucking cold he associated with Dementors. Their class of Auror trainees had gone to see the conditions shortly after the war, when he’d first begun his program. The Dementors hadn’t been reinstated – nor, thank Merlin, were they ever likely to be – but the residual chill from them had remained; it would fade over time, but that would take years. He shuddered, partly from the chill and partly from his own memories of the hideous things, and followed the guard to where Malfoy would be spending the next six months.

There were no formal visiting areas in Azkaban, except those reserved for consultations with lawyers, so he would be seated directly outside Malfoy’s cell. Not exactly private – he’d have liked to cast a silencing spell, but he’d had to check his wand at the gate – but at least he was allowed in.

"Potter?" Malfoy’s grey eyes passed from Harry to the guard and back again.

Harry sat on the wooden stool provided. "Malfoy."

He nodded at the guard who looked warily between them before turning to leave. As an afterthought, he called back, "You’ve got fifteen minutes. Just holler if you want to leave sooner."

"What are you doing here?"

Harry wondered the same thing himself. His promise to Narcissa Malfoy aside, he’d never even considered _not_ coming. Ron had grilled him about it when he’d told him where he was going, and he hadn’t anything but his promise with which to explain himself. He hoped Ron would speak to him again soon. He shrugged, returning his attention to his current situation. "Just checking in, making sure you’re okay."

Malfoy’s eyes widened in what appeared to be genuine surprise. "Why would you care?"

Why indeed. Harry pursed his lips. He _did_ care, as odd as that was, but – as in his conversation with Ron a few days ago – he couldn’t come up with a response that would be received well.

_I agree with Dumbledore, that you’re worth saving._

_I saved your life. I can’t just let that go to waste._

_You may have made some stupid choices, but you don’t deserve this._

_You’ve been a part of my life since we were eleven – as long as Ron and Hermione – and it just doesn’t feel right that you’re here, despite everything._

That last one hit far too close to the mark for Harry to say it aloud. Instead he said, "I promised your mother I’d check on you from time to time, make sure the conditions – such as they are – don’t reach an unbearable point."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes, obviously trying to decide whether or not to believe Harry. In the end, he nodded but remained wary. Avoiding further discussion on that topic, instead he asked, "How is she?"

"She’s fine." Malfoy raised a brow at that. "Okay, she’s worried about you and she’s understandably frustrated with her house arrest. She really wishes she could come see you."

Malfoy blinked and took some calming breaths. "And my father," he said. Lucius was here too, currently serving twenty years.

Harry shrugged. "I don’t know about that. She only talked about you."

Malfoy’s face remained unreadable and Harry found himself curious about what might be going through his mind. At length, he said, "Well, I doubt she’d ask _you_ to pop in and see how he’s doing."

Harry snorted at the thought. "I don’t suppose she would." No, Narcissa was intelligent enough by far and wouldn’t expect Harry – someone her husband had wanted dead since the first time they’d met, perhaps sooner – to check on his well-being.

"Truth be told, I’m surprised she asked you to check up on me."

"Truth be told, she didn’t. I offered."

"But you said --"

"That I promised her. I never said she was the one to suggest it."

"I see." His tone said otherwise. And why should he when Harry didn’t understand it himself?

"Anyway, I don’t have long. How are you holding up?"

Malfoy stood up then and slowly dragged the edge of a piece of parchment along the three stone walls as he walked the perimeter of his five by eight foot cell.  He grimaced as he saw the accumulated filth on the page before tossing it onto the small table that served as a desk. "Well, you know ... it’s not quite up to the standards I’m used to, but it’ll do."

Harry watched him for a sign of something hidden, something broken beneath the veneer. He was relieved to find none – nothing like the vacant desperation he’d seen behind those grey eyes in the past. Harry suspected that living in his own home with Voldemort and the Death Eaters was, ironically, serving Malfoy well. He was stronger than most, and Harry thought that if he could just hold it together and keep his head down, he might be okay. Really okay. _Less than six months to go._

Harry nodded, letting him know wordlessly that he understood. "I’ll let your mother know you’re holding up okay."

Malfoy nodded back. "Tell her I’ll be fine and I’ll be home soon."

Harry allowed himself a small grin. "Only five months and two weeks to go."

"Give or take."  Malfoy took a fortifying breath. "Piece of cake."

Harry held Malfoy’s gaze. "I’ll check in periodically. You’ll let me know if things are not okay, yeah?"

Malfoy’s expression morphed from surprised to suspicious to contemplative, ending with the stubborn jut of his jaw that Harry knew so well. Harry found it rather reassuring. "I don’t need rescuing."

Harry shrugged. "Never said you did, but if things change, I’d like to know." When Malfoy continued to regard him warily, he sighed. "It would ease your mother’s worry."

After a brief hesitation, Malfoy nodded.

"See you in a couple of weeks," Harry said. He didn’t imagine the hope in Malfoy’s eyes. "Sooner if they’ll allow it."

"You don’t have to, you know."

Harry smiled. "I know."

***

Harry kept his word over the next four months and stopped by every other week to check in on Malfoy. Unsurprisingly, the prison did not relax their bi-weekly rule, but Malfoy didn’t seem too bothered by that. In fact, he’d seemed rather heartened by the fact that even Saint Potter couldn’t get them to bend their rules for him, though they didn’t enforce the fifteen-minute limit too stringently after a few times.

A few months into his incarceration, near the end of the visit, Malfoy said, "I don’t understand you, Potter."

"You never really have, you know." Harry had realised some time ago that neither of them had ever understood each other. Had never bothered to try. "But what specifically do you mean?"

Malfoy didn’t argue Harry’s point. "You’re the Golden Boy. You could be anywhere, doing anything. But instead you’re here."

Harry shrugged. He seemed to do that a lot lately. "Maybe I don’t want to be anywhere else right now."

Malfoy snorted. "You’re lucky they haven’t locked you up in the Janus Thickey Ward. No one _wants_ to be in Azkaban, prisoner or visitor. Even the Aurors prefer to move the prisoners to the Ministry for questioning, rather than do it here." He stared at Harry for a long moment before adding, "We’re not even friends."

"I don’t know." Another shrug. "Maybe we could be."

Malfoy’s mouth dropped open comically, but before he had the chance to close it and respond, the guard arrived to escort Harry out. "See you in two weeks, Malfoy."

***

The evening before Harry’s five-month visit to the prison, he received an urgent owl asking him to contact Narcissa by Floo. He’d seen her two weeks prior – the day before his last trip to Azkaban – and had owled her Draco’s response the following day. He wasn’t scheduled to see her before this trip, and his stomach clenched in response.

"Mrs Malfoy!" he called through the Floo when he didn’t see anyone’s face.  The room was dark and he could only see shadows and outlines of furniture. 

She stepped into sight soon after, hand over her chest and a little out of breath. "Oh, thank goodness."

His heart began to race. "What’s wrong? Is it Draco? Did something happen?" He couldn’t keep the panic from his voice.

"No, no. The opposite, I’m afraid."

He frowned. "I don’t follow."

He watched as a house-elf pulled a chair to the front of the Floo and Narcissa sat down. He asked again, "What’s wrong?"

She explained that she’d been trying to arrange employment and a place to live for Draco once he got released. "They won’t let him stay with me as long as I’m under house arrest, and he has to have both work and shelter under the conditions of his parole."

Harry knew all of this. He still thought it unnecessarily cruel to keep a mother from her child, but he supposed he understood, what with Draco’s upbringing, why the Ministry wanted to ensure he wouldn’t simply return to his old ways if he were to return to his family home with his not-entirely innocent mother. At least Draco would be allowed periodic – if short and supervised – visits to the manor.

"And you haven’t found anything?"

"No."

This surprised Harry. He knew, of course, that many of the old family connections would be useless, but with Lucius’ reach as wide as it had been, he’d just figured that _something_ could be arranged for Draco. Especially considering how smart and talented he was, something Harry had finally been able to recognise somewhat objectively, after he’d forced himself to reevaluate his earlier assessment.  After all, he’d only come second to Hermione in most classes and outstripped her in flying and probably a number of other areas. Death Eater business aside, an employer would be lucky to have someone that talented on their payroll.

She blinked rapidly but managed to retain her composure. He had no idea how long that might last and he didn’t fancy having a distraught Narcissa Malfoy on his hands. "And I’ve exhausted all avenues I can think of. Being unable to meet with anyone in person makes it, as I’m sure you can imagine, rather challenging to say the least."

Harry nodded. "It’s much easier to say no to an owl."

"Or turn them away entirely." From the bitterness in her voice, Harry suspected this was more the norm than the exception.

"Even easier," he agreed. He ought to know; he’d done it thousands of times himself after the war. He’d had to deal with a multitude of post on several occasions over the years, but nothing compared to the post-war volume. A mix of thank-yous and condolences and marriage proposals and less innocent propositions made up the positive ones – though some bordered on stalkerish and had left him feeling unclean. A collection of insults, howlers and packages containing irritants, poisons and spells made up the more daunting ones. Hermione had shown him a handy spell to reduce the incoming to those senders Harry actually knew. From there he could categorise them by likelihood of danger. Which meant, in total, at least ninety per cent went unopened.

"I’m sorry," he said. And he meant it. He hadn’t fought to have Draco’s sentence shortened only to have him become ineligible for parole because he couldn’t arrange work for himself.

"There’s a Potions Master who would be willing to take him on conditionally, as an apprentice, but he’s in Paris and Draco won’t be allowed to leave the country."

Harry wished he could reach through the Floo to comfort her, though he didn’t know if she’d welcome that. She must have seen him motioning to do that very thing, because it was then that she fell apart, her frame shaking, though she made no sound. Somehow that made it worse.

"Why don’t you give me a list of all the people you’ve contacted and what you’ve done so far? Maybe there’s something I can do." Harry had no idea what that might be, but maybe Hermione could help.

"Oh, would you? I’m sure they’d listen to you." Harry wasn’t so sure, but he kept that to himself.

Her voice was steady, which made Harry wonder how much of her pain was an act; she was Slytherin after all. He looked at her – really looked – and though her voice was strong and confident, her eyes belied her true feelings. She was frightened. Hopeful too, but mainly frightened.

Forcing a confidence he didn’t feel into his response, he said, "I’ll do what I can." Wanting to comfort her, but not give false hope, he added, "But don’t overestimate the power I have over potential employers. Or the Council, for that matter. Most of them are rather set in their ways and a few of them I daresay are already not pleased with me from Draco’s original hearing."

Narcissa reached forward, pulling her hand back at the last minute – an alert would no doubt be sent to the Aurors if she reached into the Floo, despite its security wards not allowing travel.  "If anyone can do something to help Draco, it’s you."

Harry sighed and ran a nervous hand through his hair. What had he promised her now? And what had he got himself into this time? He grinned in what he hoped was a comforting manner. "Owl me the details and I’ll let you know if I make any progress."

***

The next day’s visit was sombre. Malfoy had received word from his lawyer that he didn’t have a job lined up or a place to stay. The slightly upbeat mood he’d had during Harry’s last couple of visits, anticipating his upcoming release, was now gone, replaced by a bitterness Harry hadn’t seen for a while.

"I won’t ask how you’re doing today," he said.

"Just peachy, Potter. Looking forward to the next couple of years in here."  Harry breathed in the damp, stale air, looked at the sparse, grey contents of Draco’s cell, and wondered if he would be able to handle being locked away in such a place for long.  Even in his cupboard there’d been colour.  Here it seemed that colour, along with all sense of hope and happiness, was drained from its inhabitants. 

Harry frowned. He didn’t have a solution, but was determined that Malfoy wouldn’t stay here any longer than necessary. Still, he didn’t want to make promises he couldn’t keep. "Your mother is sending me details of her attempts so far and I’m going to see what I can do."

Malfoy snorted. "Surely you realise that anyone my family would have been associated with would not exactly be the type to listen to you."

Harry nodded. He understood Draco’s anger, but wasn’t going to rise to it. "That remains to be seen. And perhaps there are some avenues she hasn’t pursued."

"Those would be the ones my father kept from her. Which would mean they’d be even less likely to talk to you." He stood up and paced around his cell a few times before running his hands through his hair in frustration. "In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if they tried to kill you."

Harry laughed. "I didn’t know you cared." He watched Draco return to his seat, scowling at the floor. "Besides, I have no intention of trying to _talk_ to anyone dodgy, no matter what your mother might want."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Then what’s your plan, Saint Potter?"

Again Harry fought against his natural instinct to yell at the git. "I don’t have a plan," he admitted.

Malfoy laughed. "Of course you don’t. Just run in, Gryffindor style, damn the consequences."

Harry grinned. "It’s worked for me so far." Green eyes bored into grey, daring them to argue. "Plus, I’ve got a secret weapon."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Granger isn’t going to help me." He looked at the ground again, shoulders slumping. Again Harry was struck by the place’s ability to drain the very life from people.  "Why would she?"

"Because I ask her to?"

Malfoy’s head shot up. "You’re serious? You’re actually going to ask Granger to help _me_?"

"No. I’m going to ask her to help _me_. And she will."

"Don’t be so sure."

Harry shrugged. "Well, if she doesn’t, I’ll just figure something out on my own."

They sat in silence for a long while after that, Draco sitting with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together, shoulders tense, facing the ground, and Harry watching him, trying not to fidget. When Harry was sure the guard was about to come get him, Draco broke the silence. Still facing the floor, he asked, "Why are you doing this, Potter? Why do you give even the slightest shit about me?"

Harry, taken aback by the utter hopelessness in his voice, said what he’d thought the first time Draco had asked him that. "Because you deserve this chance, the chance to be your own man, not the person your father chose for you to be. Because you don’t deserve to rot in here because of some stupid choices you made when you were too young and under too much pressure to properly consider the consequences." He looked into Draco’s eyes, more open than Harry’d ever seen them before. "Because you’ve been a part of my life since we were kids, for as long as I’ve known I’m a wizard, and – as weird as it sounds – life without you in it is just somehow _wrong_.

Harry felt his cheeks redden at his admission, but he held Draco’s gaze. He needed this stubborn, proud man to know that he was telling him the truth. That he meant what he said.

Wide eyes relaxed as he processed Harry’s words. He frowned then shook his head. "You’re weird, Potter."

Harry smiled. "I’ve been called worse."

Malfoy laughed. "I suspect you have."

Once again, before things could get too uncomfortable with pointed questions or awkward silence, the guard arrived to escort Harry out.

"Potter!" Harry turned back. "Harry. Thanks."

He nodded and smiled. "See you in two weeks ... Draco."

***

A folder of material arrived later that day, a mixture of handwritten and typed letters on official letterhead, parchment, scraps of paper and, in one case, on a napkin.  All were the same: the answer is no.  We will not employ your son.  Some were more colourfully worded and had notes scribbled by Narcissa along the margins. Several hours into his perusal, frustrated by his lack of solutions, he gave in and called Hermione.

"Tell me again why we’re helping Malfoy," she said for the third time that night, as they sat at his kitchen table, take-away packets littering the only surface area not cluttered with papers. He breathed in the delicious aroma of the tangy sauces before them and remembered the musty air at Azkaban.

Harry shrugged. He’d sidestepped her question the last couple of times – he wasn’t sure of the answer himself – but decided to give it a go this time. After all, it’s not like she’d let it go if he kept ignoring her.  "I don’t know," he said, remembering how desperate Draco’s mother had been. "If you’d seen Narcissa --"

Hermione coughed. "You mean the same Narcissa who called me Mudblood and stood by watching as her sister tortured me?"

Her screams rang once more in his head.  Harry ignored them. "The Narcissa who saved my life."

"As a means to get to her son." Hermione popped a chicken ball into her mouth and glared at Harry. "She’d have as soon killed you if that would have served her better."

Harry didn’t argue the point, because he knew she was right. "But she didn’t." He tried not to push back too hard – he needed her help – but he was sick to death of having this same conversation over and over again. Sick of having to defend his actions. "Look, Hermione, we both know I need your help, but I’m not going to beg for it. This is something I have to do. Something I want to do. It’s the right thing to do and I’m going to move ahead with it, with or without you." He tightened his jaw, reining in his temper. "I’d prefer it be with you, if it’s all the same, though."

She harrumphed and shuffled some papers around. She would do it, then. She might not like it – no, she definitely wouldn’t like it – but she was his friend and he needed her help. She couldn’t walk away from this any more than she could bring herself to own a house-elf. "Malfoy better appreciate this, Harry. His mother too."

He smiled. "Thank you."

She scowled. "Yeah, well, don’t thank me yet. We’ve a job ahead of us."

He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "No matter the outcome, I appreciate your help."

Her scowl softened and she squeezed his hand back. With a smile she said, "Always, Harry." As concern replaced her smile, she added, "I hope you know what you’re getting into."

He grinned. "Not a clue. But when has that ever stopped me?"

She laughed and the tension in the room subsided as they set to work.

***

On Draco’s scheduled parole hearing date, Harry once more found himself before the Council of Magical Law.  This time they were in a smaller room with a large table at the front for the Council members, two smaller tables for prosecution and defence and a gallery in back that made it feel more like a classroom than a courtroom.  He smiled politely as the shocked faces of the members greeted him.

"Mr Potter," the Chief Warlock said before Harry even took a seat. "This is a closed session.  We are not here to review former testimony."

Harry remained standing. "I am aware, sir. I am here to speak to the issue of parole."

The Chief sighed and his reddening face spoke of his frustration. "In what capacity, may I ask? My understanding is that you have taken a leave from Auror training. Do you fancy that your role in a war long past entitles you to testify at every hearing we hold?"

The war hadn’t been _that_ long ago, Harry reflected. He could still taste those wretched mushrooms Hermione’d made and visions of dead bodies and madmen still haunted his dreams.  Several members tittered, amused by the Chief’s condescending tone. They hadn’t appreciated Harry’s influence after the war, and it seemed they were pleased to see him put in his place. Eager to disabuse them of that notion, Harry chuckled. "I wouldn’t dare presume to be so bold – or self-absorbed – to believe my word would carry such weight."

Taken aback, the Chief said in barely restrained exasperation, "Then what are you doing here?"

Harry looked around the nearly empty room and the vacant prosecution and defence tables. "Should we not wait for everyone to be present?"

"Yes, let’s." Draco’s lawyer breezed in, smiling at Harry as he passed.  The man oozed confidence and upper-class breeding and instantly made Harry feel at ease. "We want to be sure everyone has the opportunity to weigh in and consider all testimony at once." He assumed a respectful demeanour and added, "We wouldn’t want to waste the court’s time listening twice."

The prosecutor entered along with Kingsley, both taking a seat at one of the tables in front of the panel. Kingsley gave Harry a nod and a grin over his shoulder before turning his attention to the Council. Harry’s shoulders relaxed. He was glad of Kingsley’s support. Harry wasn’t fooled into believing the process was as transparent and fair as the proceedings would have the public believe – most testimony was in written form and continued to be reviewed before court convened – but even the Council took note when the Minister himself showed up to a hearing.

Several minutes passed as Draco was escorted to the defence table, the last few people made their way in and the doors were shut. It was a small victory that parole hearings remained closed to the public, and most importantly the media.  It felt less claustrophobic and intimidating this way.

"In the matter of parole for the prisoner Draco Lucius Malfoy, this hearing is called to order." The Chief looked first to Kingsley and then Draco’s lawyer, ignoring the prosecutor altogether. "Are we to understand correctly that the Ministry has come to an agreement with defence counsel in this matter?"

"That is correct, sir," the prosecutor replied.

The Chief riffled through some documents, as did the other four members. Thankfully parole hearings – even those for convicted Death Eaters – rarely warranted a full Council. "It states here that Mr Malfoy has obtained both employment and a residence. Is that correct?"

"Yes, sir. The Ministry has been to the residence and place of employment and can assure the court that all is in order."

The Chief puffed out his chest, reminding Harry strongly of Percy Weasley; he stifled a chuckle. The Chief’s face reddened and he pressed his lips together in a tight line. "I rather think the court will be judge of that."

Kingsley nodded and stood. "Of course. We merely wanted to assure the court that the Aurors have done a thorough inspection and have assured us – and wish to assure the court – that wards are in place to prevent unauthorised access to Mr Malfoy by those not expressly approved by the court, and can only be adjusted by those authorised to do so."

Several members nodded, accepting Kingsley at his word. Harry let out a slow breath and allowed himself a moment of hope. Draco’s back remained rigid; he wasn’t yet prepared to let himself hope. The Chief frowned at his colleagues, clearly not pleased by their response to Kingsley’s testimony. "Yes, well, that may be the case, but nevertheless, the court will not simply accept this without more information."

"If the court please," Draco’s lawyer addressed the panel. "Given the threats on Mr Malfoy’s life that continue to arrive at somewhat regular intervals, the parties chose to word the agreement before you without specifics." The Chief spluttered, but Draco’s attorney cut in. "We would not want to risk the safety of the public – including Mr Malfoy’s employer – by providing details of either his place of employment or his residence in a public document."

"See here," the Chief cut in, but was once more cut off, this time by Kingsley.

"Of course we are not suggesting that the information will not be disclosed to the court," Kingsley told the panel. "But in the interest of public safety, we suggest a binding spell be placed on all present so as to prevent such details from becoming available to the general public."

Once more the Chief spluttered. "Do you mean to suggest that we --"

Kingsley stood calmly. "We do not mean to presume anything about the esteemed members present. On the contrary, we have your very safety – and that of your friends and family – in mind. Should someone wish to ascertain Mr Malfoy’s whereabouts, you and those you love might be at risk. These are hardened criminals, trained by Voldemort in who knows what, that have remained at large for years. His loyal followers would stop at nothing to get to Mr Malfoy. The use of a binding spell – something there is established precedent for – would go a long way towards protecting you and those close to you."

"Well then. If we don’t release Mr Malfoy, it won’t be an issue." Someone gasped. Harry coughed – it’s not as if he hadn’t expected that, but to say it out loud ...

Draco’s lawyer stood up and smiled. "Surely the Chief isn’t suggesting the Council would allow a potential personal threat against its members to influence its actions to support the miscarriage of justice."

"Miscarriage?" The Chief’s indignant declaration did nothing to hide his opinion on the matter.

The woman seated next to him coughed softly. "Minister, how would this binding spell work?"

Kingsley stood once more. "We would set a marker at the time specific testimony begins. You would all hear the details and be afforded the opportunity to ask questions, as is regularly the case. Once presentation of details is concluded, another marker will be set. At that point, we shall commence recording of the vote. Once voting is concluded, all memories of the proceedings will be bound, removed collectively in a way similar to a Pensieve memory, and placed into a lock-box keyed to our collective magical signatures. At the conclusion of this process, an Obliviator will be brought in to complete the process, deleting any residual memories we may have, through the use of the markers placed earlier."

Silence reigned for several moments as those present pondered the ramifications.

"How do we know this isn’t some form of manipulation?" the Chief predictably asked.

"And what prevents someone at the Ministry from accessing the lock-box?" asked another panel member.

"And how would the vote be considered legal if none of us can remember casting it?"

Kingsley waited another minute to allow for further questions. When none were forthcoming, he smiled and got to his feet. "As I stated before, we will record the voting. Each of you will have the opportunity to state that you are doing so of your own free will, and we will have a recording spell monitoring your magical signature for any outside influence. Then voting will commence. That will become part of the public record. I believe that addresses the first and third questions. As for the lock-box, it is not keyed to _each_ of our magical signatures, but rather _all_ of them. Every one of us will be required in order to unlock it. Whilst not one hundred percent foolproof, it will make the task of manipulation nearly impossible."

"Nearly?"

The prosecutor addressed this question. "To further secure the box, we can have it placed under a Fidelius with a secret keeper agreeable to all, if the court would like the additional protection. Also, we recommend that the protection be finite – say for a period of five years. Then everything becomes part of the public record at that time and our memories are restored."

After all members nodded their understanding, the Chief addressed Kingsley, the prosecutor and Draco’s lawyer. "Is there anything you’d like to add before we consider this matter?"

"If I could highlight some points from the report you have in front of you?" Draco’s lawyer said as he stood, notes in hand.

"Proceed."

"Mr Malfoy has been an exemplary prisoner. He has caused no disturbances and has provided, throughout his stay, any and all cooperation requested by the Aurors and Ministry representatives. He has been instrumental in the capture and conviction of several Death Eaters and Voldemort supporters since his incarceration. He has further provided assistance to the Ministry’s Curse Breakers in disentangling numerous objects from dark spells when asked. He volunteered to assist the Ministry and will continue to do so upon his release – whether that happens today or at some time in the future. This is all in addition to the assistance he provided to the Order prior to his incarceration."

He let that information settle before continuing. "Mr Malfoy has secured employment and a place of residence, despite the varied and continued obstacles placed in his path." His tone echoed Harry’s own frustration. "Mr Malfoy has acknowledged his past wrongdoings and has tried – and will continue to try – to make amends for his actions. While not an excuse, I would like to reiterate for the court that Mr Malfoy was a minor and under duress at the time, facts which we acknowledge the court took into consideration at the time of his initial sentencing. He has had no contact with his father at Azkaban prison and has no intention of contacting him while Malfoy senior remains in custody. He has done nothing further to warrant suspicion that he might revert to his old ways and, in fact, has acted against the factions that remain.

"We believe that his employment and regular reports from his employer and the Aurors assigned to his case, coupled with restrictions placed for his and the public’s safety, should serve to reassure the Council."

He took his seat, ran his gaze over each panel member, and thanked them for their indulgence.

Court adjourned for fifteen minutes while the panel considered the unusual request for secrecy.

"How do you think they’ll vote?" Harry asked Kingsley as they sat on the bench outside the courtroom.  He suspected a charm had been used to enhance the discomfort of the seats and put the accused on edge as they waited to be called in.

Kingsley held Harry’s gaze before answering in a cryptic manner worthy of Dumbledore. "One can never tell."

Harry ran his hand through his hair in frustration, catching his fingers in a knot and wincing as his eyes watered. "I know that, but what does your gut tell you?"

Kingsley chuckled, the deep rumbling echoing in the empty corridor. "To wait another ten minutes and not to speculate." Harry snorted. Before he could prompt further, Kingsley added, "I think two are a definite yes, two could go either way, and the remaining one is a no or leaning that way."

Harry sighed. "That’s not much better than ‘wait and see’."

Kingsley chuckled again before giving Harry’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "We’ll know soon enough, Harry."

Harry realised, perhaps for the first time, what Kingsley’s presence meant. He was the Minister for Magic and he’d taken time out of his demanding schedule – today and in preparation for today – simply because Harry had asked. "Thanks, Kingsley. Minister. For everything."

"Mr Malfoy is one lucky man to have you in his corner."

Harry shrugged. "I’m not sure how _lucky_ he feels, but it’s the right thing to do. It’s what Dumbledore would have done. I’m not doing anything for him that someone else in my position wouldn’t do."

Kingsley’s brow lifted and he looked down at Harry. "You don’t really believe that, do you Harry?"

"I know Dumbledore would have --"

"Dumbledore, perhaps. But no one else would. After all, Mr Malfoy couldn’t even get a job, could he? There’s not a person I can imagine would do for him what you are doing."

Bewildered, Harry said, "He saved my life. As did his mother."

"And you’ve paid that back many times over. _And_ , if my sources are correct, you’ve made sure he’s been treated well during his time at Azkaban. You’ve visited him and his mother. And, when no one else would even consider it, you’re offering him a job and a place to live. I’d say that’s rather more than anyone else would be willing to consider, never mind do."

Harry blinked. "I’d do the same for Ron or Hermione or Neville or Luna or Ginny. Or any of the Weasleys. Or --"

He held up a hand to stop him. "For your closest friends and family, I understand. But if I’m not mistaken, Mr Malfoy does not fall into either category. And yet ..."

Harry frowned. "He’s changed."

Kingsley rested a hand on his arm. "Let’s hope for your sake he has."

As soon as they’d all taken their seats again in the courtroom, the Chief called the proceedings to order once more. "Alright, Minister, we agree to your proposal. How long do you need to set up?"

"We have everything with us and an Obliviator on standby. If it please the Council, I can have him come down here now."

"Very well."

Set-up ran smoothly, much as Kingsley had described, and by the time Harry was called forward, markers had been placed. He hadn’t known what to expect, really, but it turned out to feel somewhat like a localised Disillusionment Charm. He wasn’t so sure he liked the feeling, but it wasn’t the worst he’d ever experienced.

As Harry took the stand, the Chief didn’t hide his distaste. "Ah, Mr Potter. What have you done for Mr Malfoy this time?"

Harry turned to face him, schooling his features to not reflect his annoyance with the pompous arse. "As I recall," he said, careful not to be rude, but unwilling to let his comment go without a response, "prior to this, I only ever stated fact in this or any other courtroom. It seems to have been the truth, not I, that helped Mr Malfoy in the past."

The Chief’s eye twitched as he struggled to maintain his composure. "And today?"

Harry shrugged. "Today I offer a man the chance a boy never had." Kingsley smiled in encouragement. Harry looked at the defence table where Malfoy fixed him with a wide-eyed stare. "Mr Malfoy – Draco – never had the chance to pursue his own path. Similar to my own life, his choices, in large part, were made for him. In my case, by Albus Dumbledore, in his case, by his father and Voldemort. The Council acknowledged that in his sentencing. I regret to say that Mr Malfoy still does not seem to have much choice regarding where his life takes him, as all doors seem to be closed to him. I have chosen to open one.

"His skills in curse breaking – in particular disentangling objects from dark spells – have been proven through his work with the Ministry. I have a large number of such objects in my home that need to be seen to, and I’m offering Mr Malfoy the opportunity to assist me. I have other interested parties that will provide additional work, should the need arise, and my understanding is that the Ministry will continue to call on Mr Malfoy, as needed, in a consulting capacity. Mr Malfoy will be compensated for his work and while he remains in my employ, he will have a place to stay in my home – which remains under Fidelius – as part of his compensation."

"And when he’s done?" the Chief asked, his eyes gleaming with triumph, clearly looking for any possible way to refuse Draco’s release. "Where will he stay then?"

"My home will remain open to him as long as he requires it, if he chooses to stay there." He turned his attention to Draco, who remained facing forward; the subject of _what happens later_ hadn’t come up in Harry’s discussions with his lawyer and – for obvious reasons – none of this had been discussed during his last visit to Azkaban. "The house is a Black family residence, and with Mr Malfoy’s mother being a Black, and the conditions of his parole requiring that he not stay in Malfoy Manor, his ancestral home, that seems appropriate, does it not?"

Once the members of the panel got over their surprise, they asked some pointed questions of Harry and Kingsley, and recessed for another fifteen minutes to discuss the matter amongst themselves. When they reconvened, the final marker was placed and recording began. They all stated they were under no duress and acting of their own accord and were prepared to vote. Then, much to Harry’s surprise, they unanimously – albeit reluctantly, on the part of the Chief – agreed to a trial run of three months, recognising that the conditions under which Draco was to be released could not provide full-time employment for two years. After that time, they would require a report back with a more comprehensive plan for the future.

Once the vote was recorded, the targeted memories off all present were removed and the Obliviator was called in to clear the residual memories of the hearing. They then played back the recording so that all present could witness the vote. Harry looked down at his watch to see that several hours had passed. Even though he’d known what was to come, it was an unnerving feeling to have lost a significant portion of that time, and to be left with no memory of his own testimony.

***

Harry left the courtroom with Kingsley while Draco went with his lawyer to sort out his release papers.

"I’m a little surprised it didn’t take more of a fight," Harry said in the lift. "Especially with the Chief Warlock."

The doors opened and Kingsley led the way. "Considering everything presented to them today, I don’t think they had much of a choice, no matter how much he wanted to punish young Mr Malfoy for his father’s actions."

"I’m sure it helped that you were there. Thanks again."

Kingsley smiled. "Albus would be proud of you."

Harry blinked. "Maybe. I"m just glad it’s over."

Kingsley laughed. "Don’t kid yourself. It’s only just beginning. You’ve got three months to figure out something more permanent – or at least long-term – for Draco."

"I know." Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Only I don’t have a clue how to do that."

"Well, I’d suggest just getting through the next month or so, see how things go, and maybe something will come up that’ll help you figure things out."

"I hope so."

"And you know, now that he is no longer in custody, you don’t have to do everything for him." He looked pointedly at Harry. "As you said yourself, he’s a capable young man."

Harry knew that to be true, but worried that no one would give Draco a chance.

***

Harry side-alonged Draco to Grimmauld Place. As they entered the house, Harry became aware of just how well the name suited the place: it was really quite grim. Compared with Malfoy Manor, it was downright depressing. Shit. He should have done something to make it more presentable. He scratched the back of his neck self-consciously. "Er ... I know it’s not what you’re used to ..."

"Potter." Draco’s lips were pressed together in a tight line and his eyes were narrowed at Harry. "What I’m used to is prison. And while I will admit this is not what I expected – we can discuss your abhorable lack of household help later – it is far better than my last place of residence."

Harry wasn’t sure what to say to that. He had to admit it was impressive how Draco could still manage to insult him, given the circumstances. He watched his guest – roommate for the foreseeable future – silently inspect his new home. At least the elf heads and umbrella stand were gone. That was something. 

Why was this so hard? He never felt this embarrassed when his friends came over. He supposed Draco – or at least Malfoy – had always had a way of putting Harry on edge. It would take time, that’s all.  "I know this is weird."

Draco snorted. "Relax, Potter. You saved me from myself, again, and I’ll be appropriately grateful. I’ll do whatever the hell it is you have lined up, I’ll play the good little reformed Death Eater, and I won’t do anything to disappoint you while I’m here."

"I don’t – I wouldn’t – What?"

"I get that you went out of your way to help me. Or my mother. Whatever. I don’t know why and I don’t much care. And I sure as hell don’t have to like it. But I’m smart enough and Slytherin enough to take the only opportunity I have at the moment, and old enough and mature enough not to fuck it up and end up back in prison."

Harry gaped. He thought they’d had a friendship of sorts building. That they’d put the past behind them, as best as they could. And now this?

"If you could show me to my room now, and the bathroom, perhaps I could wash the remains of that hell-hole off my person and collapse for the night?"

Harry’s head swam with everything Draco had said. He tried to imagine how he’d feel if suddenly he found himself under Draco’s roof, dependent on him for a job and a place to live and his very freedom. He wanted to explain himself, explain why he was doing this – if only he knew himself – and reassure Draco that he didn’t have to go back to prison.

He saw the sharp set of Draco’s jaw and thought better of it. Maybe a shower and a good night’s sleep were what they both needed. He led the way upstairs and pointed to the room on the far left. "That’s where I put your things." At Draco’s bewildered look, he explained, "Your mother gave me a trunk of your things; she thought it might help you settle in here." He nodded but remained wary.

Harry smirked. "Don’t worry, she locked it. She said you’d know how to open it." He smirked back.

"Anyway, I have three spare rooms, but that one is the largest and most private, so I thought you’d prefer that. But if you’d rather move to another, you can have your pick."

"I’m sure that will be fine, thank you."

"Okay then." He pointed to the door just to the left of the landing. "That’s the bathroom. I have my own, so this one’s all yours. I put some things in there for you – towels, soap, shampoo, razors and whatnot. You’ll probably want to get your own things, but those should do for now."

Draco poked his head into the room. "I’m sure it will suffice. Thank you."

Polite as he was, he sounded so defeated that Harry found himself desperate to reassure him. "Look, Draco. Malfoy. I know this is awkward and it sucks for you and you probably hate me nearly as much as you ever did – maybe even more – but we’ll make this work."

"I don’t hate you."  The rest of what he mumbled, Harry couldn’t hear.

Harry snorted. "Sure you don’t. Anyway, wash up and see to your things and if you’re hungry – now or later – just come downstairs and I’ll show you where everything is in the kitchen."

Draco nodded, looking on the verge of falling apart – certainly more broken than he had when he’d been escorted away to prison after his trial. It had to be difficult to maintain a tough exterior through all that, and who knew what had gone on at Azkaban that he hadn’t told Harry about.

Opting to give him his space, Harry pointed to the room at the opposite end of the corridor from Draco’s room. "That’s my room. If you need anything, just knock."

Draco lifted his chin in acknowledgement then turned abruptly and walked to his room. He opened the door, went inside and closed the door again, without a word or a glance back. Harry stared at the portal for a few minutes before shaking himself out of his stupor and heading downstairs.

The shower ran for forty-five minutes – Harry wondered if Draco had felt clean even after that long under the water – before he heard the door open and Draco make his way back to his room. He didn’t come down for supper that night.

***

Draco shut the door behind him, not looking back, afraid he might lose it completely. He’d barely given any thought to what he’d do once he got released; he’d remained focussed on what his lawyer said was his only option. No one would hire him. No one would rent him a flat without a job. And he couldn’t go home while his mother remained under house arrest. His only option – it wasn’t a choice, really, since the alternative was remaining in Azkaban and he’d had enough of that, thank you very much – was to accept Potter’s offer of work. And a place to live.

He’d balked at the idea, despite the visits and budding friendship, if one could call it that. Draco kept wondering when the quaffle would drop, when Potter would say, "Jig’s up. Just joking. You don’t seriously think I give a kneazle’s arse what happens to the likes of you, do you? I’ve just been entertaining myself with the pleasure of seeing you reduced to this pile of shite, behind bars, where you belong."

But that day hadn’t come. Potter had continued his visits – to him and his mother, for Merlin’s sake. He didn’t think he’d be able to walk back into Malfoy Manor if he were Potter. Then again, Potter was ... well, Potter. Bloody Gryffindor. He’d faced down a basilisk, a dragon, Draco’s father and the Dark Lord, and that was all while he was a child. Draco hadn’t faced down anything in his life. Cowering before a madman and living to tell about it wasn’t quite the same.

So now here he was, in Potter’s home, in Potter’s employ, completely beholden to the man and he didn’t know what to make of it. He’d very nearly stopped breathing as he’d crossed the threshold and looked at the place. He’d been willing enough to let Potter think it was the mess of the place that had caused his reaction. Merlin knew Potter had already seen him in bloody tears once before, and that hadn’t ended very well.

He couldn’t fathom why on earth Potter was doing this for him. Was it to further embarrass or degrade him? Draco laughed at that thought. There wasn’t much worse than being in prison. But then this was just another prison, wasn’t it? He wasn’t safe to go outside on his own, but he’d be damned if he asked Potter to tag along with him wherever he went. He looked down at his wand with disgust. Even that wasn’t really his own. Potter – it was always Potter, wasn’t it? – had mastery of it before, and who knew if it would ever serve Draco properly again. But then there were the stupid tracking spells on it; clearly the Ministry wanted to keep close tabs on a former Death Eater, no matter how pathetic and unwilling a one he’d turned out to be in the end. It was tainted, just like everything else in his life.

He sat on the bed, elbows on his knees and head in his hands, breathing deeply. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. He could do this. He could pretend that he wasn’t a prisoner here. He doubted Potter would treat him as if he were, but who knew? Maybe this was the chance he’d been waiting for all along. Draco shook his head at that. As if Saint Potter would have such a sadistic side.

Draco tried to reconcile the boy who’d sliced him open with the Potter he’d grown to know. He remembered how horrified the other boy had been when he’d seen what his spell had done, and Draco knew that he’d never intended to hurt him like that. And he doubted Potter had spent the last six months setting up a plan for revenge now. Planning was more Granger’s style – Potter was more the run-in-and-damn-the-consequences type.

He ran his hands through his hair and grimaced. He could feel the grime all over himself. He could smell the musty air, taste the fear and blood in the air, hear the moans and screams of the other prisoners even now.

Resolving to rid himself of the physical reminders – if not the memories – of the place, he made his way to the bathroom and stood under the hot stream until his fingers shrivelled and he began to shiver, despite the magically-sustained heat of the water. After scrubbing himself raw, rinsing and towelling off, he felt more like himself. Hungry though he was, he couldn’t face Potter yet. He’d wait for the morning, and just pray that sleep would claim him swiftly.

***

It was only after Harry knocked on his door at ten the next morning that Draco had agreed to join him for breakfast.

They ate in awkward silence, the only sounds the crunching of toast and the scraping of knives and forks against plates. After he’d taken the last bite of his toast and last sip of his tea, Draco pushed his plate aside and broke the silence. "So what’s my job?"

They hadn’t discussed specifics. Harry hadn’t seen Draco since his last visit and he’d made all the arrangements with his lawyer. Add to that the fact that any testimony he’d made at the hearing had been wiped from their memories, and he didn’t know what Draco knew. "Just what I discussed with your lawyer. I’ve got some dark artifacts here and some dark spells lurking about the house that I need rid of."

Sceptical didn’t quite capture the look he gave Harry then. "And that’s supposed to keep me busy for three months?"

Harry shrugged. "I don’t know. I suppose that depends on how complicated the spells are and how good you are."

Draco folded his arms over his chest. "I’m very good."

"So I’ve heard." He sipped the last of his tea, put his mug down and leaned across the table. "That’s why you’re here."

He narrowed his eyes at Harry, opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it. He took a deep breath and sighed. "Shall I get started?"

Harry blinked, taken aback. "Now?"

"I rather thought that was a condition of my release. You know, to be _working_."

"Well, yeah, but – shit, you’ve been in prison for the last six months. Don’t you need some time to adjust?" Draco’s brows furrowed, as though unsure if he could believe what Harry was saying. If he could trust him. "I figured you’d want to take a week or so to ... I don’t know ... get used to being free. Isn’t there something you’ve wanted to do?"

"What do you suggest? Go see my parents? Oh, wait, no – I can’t do that. My father’s in prison and I have to make an appointment in advance to see my mother.  See my friends? Wrong again. They’ve all – the ones still alive, that is – they’ve left the country and I’m not permitted to do that. Go down the pub and have a beer? With whom?"

Harry chose to sidestep the friends and family comments. He feigned interest in the clock on the wall.  "It’s rather early for a beer, though I’m sure it’s five o’clock somewhere." He ran his hair through his hair. How was it that Draco could always make him feel like an idiot? "For now, maybe you could jot down what you might need and what food you might like, and we could go shopping. Then maybe we could grab that beer you mentioned and talk about how your meeting with the Aurors went and figure out where to go from there."

Draco laughed. It reminded Harry of Hogwarts and the never-ending pleasure Malfoy derived from his discomfort or embarrassment. "Are you really as stupid as you sound, Potter?"

"Excuse me?"

"This house is under Fidelius, is it not?"

"Yes ..."

"And no one on the Council even knows that I’m here with you, correct?"

"No one knows but the two of us, Kingsley and your lawyer. Maybe a couple of people in the Aurors, but they’re under a tongue-tying spell so they can’t tell anyone. I haven’t even told my friends yet, though Hermione’s probably figured it out."

"So where exactly, in that teeny-tiny brain of yours, did you hatch up the idea to go out in public with me?"  He shook his head at the sheer idiocy of it.  "The two of us. Together. Would that not rather defeat the purpose of this whole cloak-and-dagger subterfuge?"

"Oh, is that all?" Harry smiled.  Finally he had thought something through and wasn’t proving himself to be the dimwit Draco thought he was.  "We can go out in disguise. Take advantage of your freedom with no one the wiser."

Draco released a long-suffering sigh. Perhaps Harry’s self-congratulations was premature after all. "You expect me to cast spells to disguise myself when my wand has a tracking spell on it? One that’s monitored by the Aurors?"

Harry’s face fell. He hadn’t known about the restrictions. "Oh."

"Yes, oh."

Momentarily irritated by the restrictions, though he understood their necessity, he suggested, "Then I’ll just cast the spells myself. And if anyone finds out about it, I’ll say that I did it to protect your safety and that you stayed with me the whole time. The spells are benign anyway. Nothing wrong with them."

A series of conflicting emotions passed over Draco’s face before he settled on confused. He opened his mouth to speak several times, but only frowned.  At length, he asked, "But why?"

Harry shrugged. "Don’t you _want_ to go outside?"

"Of course I want to go outside."

"And wouldn’t you prefer to do so without prying eyes following your every move?"

"Naturally, but ... well ... why do you care? What do you get out of this?"

Of course he’d think of it that way. He’d spent his schooldays in Slytherin where Harry imagined everyone negotiated and plotted every move they made or word they said.  How exhausting. For all Harry knew, Draco may have had that same existence at home.

"Why does there have to be anything in it for me?"

Draco’s eyes widened. "You’re serious?"

"Sure. Why not?"

Which is how they found themselves, several hours later, Harry as a nondescript, fade-into-the background sort with no scar, brown eyes and hair several shades lighter than his usual black, and Draco as a sandy-blond, slightly-less-pale-than-usual, shy wizard, sat at a table in the back corner of a pub in Muggle London, having a beer, their packages long before sent to Grimmauld Place.

Harry erected a privacy spell so they could speak more freely, despite the unlikelihood of running into any wizards. He grinned as Draco took a pull from his beer and sighed. "I have to say, I never would have imagined this moment. You and me having a beer together."  He chuckled.  "Not in my wildest dreams."

Draco allowed himself a slight smirk. "While I’m sure I’ve starred in my share of wild dreams in my day, I doubt very much those dreams would have been about shopping for food and toiletries in Muggle London and having a beer, of all things, in a pub, of all places." He raised his glass and took another pull. "I should think such wayward thoughts of me would be rather more refined.  And definitely less tame." Harry was grateful that he wasn’t taking a sip of his own drink then, as Draco’s words evoked some rather inappropriate visions. "And I seriously doubt _you’d_ be the one having said dreams about me."

Harry blinked. He hadn’t, to the best of his knowledge. But – even through the disguise, because he knew who was underneath it, after all – as he watched Draco swallow more of his beer, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, Harry wasn’t so sure he wouldn’t from now on. Feeling decidedly warmer than when they’d arrived, and a bit uncomfortable in his suddenly too tight trousers, he gulped down some more of his own lager, willing himself to come up with a witty retort. Before he could say something, anything really, Draco added with a smirk, "So, Potter, what _are_ in your wildest dreams?"

Saved from answering by the perfectly timed appearance of the waitress – he’d leave her an exceptional tip for that – Harry successfully avoided addressing that loaded question for the rest of the night, though his mind had trouble ridding itself of images he probably shouldn’t be having of Draco Malfoy.

***

The next morning, Harry was in the kitchen, sipping his tea while Kreacher prepared breakfast, when he heard Draco’s footsteps on the stairs. He took a fortifying breath. He’d had a restless night owing to these feelings he suspected weren’t as new as he tried to convince himself, and he wasn’t entirely sure how he’d react to seeing the object of his thoughts so soon. Fortunately fate, in the form of a particularly surly portrait, stepped in.

"Fiends! Vile traitors! Mudbloods and --"

Draco cleared his throat, cutting short her tirade. "Excuse me?"

Harry ran from the kitchen, wand raised, prepared to shut Sirius’ mother up.

"Oh, dear me. I didn’t realise." Harry stopped dead in his tracks. Was Walburga being pleasant?

"Quite. I would imagine you’ve had all sorts traipsing through your home since your son met his end."

"Blood traitor, he was."

"My mother’s cousin."

Walburga looked contrite, and Harry swore that if it were possible for a portrait to blush she would have. "I didn’t realise, you see. Ever since ... well. He!" She waved an angry finger in Harry’s direction. "This one claims he’s the master of the house. This half-blood, friend of blood traitors and mudbloods alike."

"He’s also a friend to me." She looked as shocked as Harry felt at those words – did Draco really mean that? – and he suspected she was warring with herself. "And to my mother."

Walburga glared at Harry, trying to work out how that could be possible. He looked at her as if to say, "What?" Clearly Draco was stretching the truth, but Harry wasn’t going to let on as much to her. Besides, it gave him hope to think that they might be friends someday.

"It’s rather a long story, but suffice it to say that my family found itself on the losing side of things. My father remains incarcerated, my mother under house arrest, and I on parole, unable to return to the manor."

"Wh-what?" She shot a scathing look at Harry which he returned with equal venom. "He said nothing to me."

"Why would I?" Harry protested, crossing his arms over his chest in defiance.

Draco glared at him then and turned his attention back to Walburga. "I imagine he didn’t think you’d want to hear of such news, particularly from him, if there was nothing to be done about it."

"Perhaps." She frowned, clearly not impressed by Draco’s attempt to pacify her. Harry sneered her way, just because. He schooled his features when Draco turned round, though.

"At any rate, now you know. And, as things turned out, your master --" He raised a hand as Walburga protested this. "He is. The house was rightfully left to him by your son." Again she attempted to protest and again he raised a quieting hand. "As difficult as you find this knowledge, I assure you that Harry Potter is the rightful owner of this home, and as such, everything in it. That includes Kreacher and ... well ... you."

She spluttered and grumbled and got herself into quite the snit, but to no avail. Draco explained once more the circumstances and the fact that Kreacher would never have answered to Harry had he not been compelled to. That, as he told her, was that.

"But what are you doing here? A fine boy such as yourself, a true Black, consorting with the likes of _him._ " Harry only just resisted the urge to stick out his tongue.

"He may have odd taste in friends. No, really, Potter, you are hardly picky." Harry bit his tongue, not wanting to get into an argument in front of Sirius’ mother, as desperate as he was to defend his friends. "Anyway, Auntie, he’s not so bad once you get to know him." She tutted, but once more he cut her off. "He is my benefactor. That’s right. He stepped up to help me when no one else would. Not any of our family friends, associates, or even distant contacts. No one would so much as consider me for employment."

"But you shouldn’t have to work! A Black. A Malfoy. Why, you have more than enough money --"

"Not any more. Besides, all the money in the world won’t buy one’s freedom. Not now anyway. And without work, I would have remained behind bars, along with my father."

"Better that than living under _his_ roof."

He looked at Harry and shrugged before turning back. "You’re wrong, Auntie. Harry is a good person, no matter your opinion of him. He and I ... well, we never got along. My parents, particularly Father, were less than kind to him over the years as well." Harry just managed to conceal his snort with a cough. Draco was apparently the master of understatement. That earned him a glare, to which he responded with a mouthed, "What?"

"Anyway, Harry was willing to set aside the past to offer me not only employment but a place to live."

"You’re living here? Why that’s wonderful! Finally, someone deserving of the honour!"

Draco chuckled. "Yes, well, I’m only here at his behest. I could be gone tomorrow if he chose."

"I wouldn’t --" Harry began, but was silenced by a look and a roll of the eyes from Draco. He really was rather adept at shutting people – and portraits – up at will.

"Too right you wouldn’t," Walburga chimed in.

Draco sighed. "He would be perfectly within his right to do so, Auntie. And I, for one, intend to do nothing to risk such a thing."

"But how dare he --"

"He has never threatened, never so much as intimated he would do such a thing. He is a kind person and I mean to honour his kindness appropriately."

"Well, I never! A Black beholden to a ... a ... half-blood."

Draco’s shoulders slumped for a moment as frustration picked away at his patience. Harry refrained from laughing. Sirius’ mother could apparently piss off even a pureblood like Draco. He took a deep breath and pulled back his shoulders once more. His jaw tightened before he resumed. "I am not beholden; I am grateful. And if you’d like to keep conversing with me while I remain under this roof, I suggest you remember that." She sputtered and once more he lifted a hand to silence her. "You are my aunt and I respect you for that reason alone. But I will not hear any disparaging remarks about Harry while I’m here. May I remind you, Auntie, that you are but a portrait. A most distinguished one, of course, but still a portrait. Harry could have you removed at any time."

Walburga laughed and Harry concurred. They’d tried everything after all. "I’d like to see him try."

Draco raised a brow in challenge. "He need only remove this section of wall and you’d be gone." _Bloody hell, why hadn’t he – or anyone else – thought of that?_ "I presume he did not do so out of respect for your position in this house." He looked back at Harry. "Isn’t that right?" His look brooked no argument.

Harry nodded. "And for Kreacher, of course. He would hate to see her go and he’s been good to me."

She pursed her lips but posed no further argument. Her hard eyes softened as she returned her gaze to Draco. "It is lovely to have you here, Draco. I do hope we can chat again."

"Of course, Auntie. But for now, I believe Kreacher has prepared breakfast for us. Until we speak again, I’ll bid you good day."

"And you." Her simpering smile made Harry want to ignite her in flames, but he, albeit reluctantly, left his wand where it was.

Kreacher appeared out of nowhere at that moment. Harry was under no illusions that he hadn’t been listening in this whole time. "Mistress is happy to have a Black in residence again," he said to Draco. "And Kreacher will be happy to take care of Master Malfoy while he is here."

Draco smiled. "Thank you, Kreacher. I would be most appreciative."

When they were out of earshot of Walburga’s frame, he whispered to Draco, "I think Master Harry is okay, too, even if he does associate with ... well, that sort."

Draco laughed. "I suppose everyone has their faults."

Kreacher looked as pleased as Walburga at their new house guest. 

"What is it, Potter?" Harry looked up from his plate where he’d been pushing around his eggs. "You’ve been muttering under your breath all through breakfast." 

"It’s nothing."

"If it were nothing, you wouldn’t be grumbling under your breath."

"It’s just ..." Willing himself not to sound like a petulant child, he grumbled, "Everyone likes you more than they like me."

Draco smiled, not even trying to deny it. "Well that’s a nice change of pace, wouldn’t you say?"

"Oh, fuck off."

Draco laughed and Harry found himself struggling not to join him.

***

The next week consisted of Draco cozying up to both Walburga and Kreacher.  By the end of that time, however, he was sufficiently bored and ready to work.

He’d gone out a few times – mainly to procure things from town, all but once with Harry, and each time in disguise. He was still wary of being seen in public, but the anonymity, while welcome for obvious reasons, was growing tiresome. Eventually he’d have to venture out as himself.

Kreacher had offered his services to make the house more habitable. His offer had been specifically for Draco’s room, but he’d enlisted the house-elf to brighten up the entire house. How Harry lived here, in this dark and frankly dreary house, was beyond him. He might not be able to contribute much to the place, but he could certainly bring taste back to a residence that had clearly lacked that for some time. Once, when Harry had gone out, the two of them had conspired to paint the entire main floor. When he’d walked in, Draco thought he would faint from shock. Instead, he’d smiled broadly and thanked them for breathing some life back into the place.

Inexplicably, Draco found himself pleased by the compliment. So pleased, in fact, that the rest of the week was spent bringing the first floor into the current century, in large part by ridding it of dirt and dust accumulated over the past hundred years or so.

A few times, he’d come across some hidden or dormant spell lurking in the shadows. He’d made quick work of those small nuisances, but they’d awakened in him the desire to get to work.

"Right, Potter," he’d announced after breakfast one morning. "You didn’t hire me to redecorate your house. What say we get on with the job you told the Ministry I’d be doing?"

"But ... are you sure? Don’t you want to take some more time to --"

"No." Draco stood up and cleared the table with a wave of his wand, snatching the last of Harry’s breakfast in the process.

"Hey! I wasn’t done yet."

"Yes you were," Draco insisted. "And you were about to show me where I’m to work and what I’m to do. I’m going stir-crazy and I don’t yet feel comfortable enough to venture out of the house too often."

"Alright, then," Harry said. "Follow me." He led the way upstairs, muttering under his breath something about "not finished" and "bacon". 

They walked up three flights of stairs to the attic, a huge room that took up the entire upper level of the house. Before they even got through the doorway, Draco could feel the stirrings of confined magic itching to escape. "Potter, be careful," he warned. The tendrils of the magic felt hot, angry, unyielding. It reminded him of some ancient heirlooms at the manor, only with so many of them in such a confined space, the concentration of dark magic clawed at him. The air felt thick and heavy, his skin prickly. "Just how many items do you have here?"

"A lot." 

When they looked into the room, Draco’s eyes confirmed what his other senses had suspected. The entire space was piled with a multitude of objects from books to cups to trinkets to a couple of large trunks. "Holy shit, Potter. You weren’t kidding."

"Nope." He stepped cautiously into the room, careful not to disrupt anything as he did so. "A lot of these items were in the house when we arrived. But some were brought in by members of the Order. Understandably, no one trusted the Ministry after Voldemort had infiltrated it, so anything they were unable to free from the curses and spells, they brought here."

"They brought dark objects to your home?"

Harry ran his hand through his hair, causing it to stick up in a not at all adorable way. Draco forced himself not to smile. "This was headquarters for the Order. They had nowhere else to put the stuff."

"Are you --? Surely they -- Dumbledore wouldn’t --" Draco found himself, not for the first time, tongue tied. "I cannot believe that the Order, that Dumbledore would have put you at risk like this. And the war’s been over for some time now, Potter. What the fuck are you doing holding onto this stuff?"

Harry shrugged. "Didn’t want it to go anywhere else where it might hurt someone."

Draco rubbed his fingers over his temples and resisted the urge to scream at or shake Harry. "But you don’t seem to care if it hurts you?"

He shrugged again. "It hasn’t so far."

Draco found himself overwhelmed with the urge to curse Dumbledore and every member of the Order that would put Harry at risk like this. Add to that his own family – fucking Blacks – for leaving much of this stuff hanging about. Deciding to set aside his need to protect Harry all of a sudden, he ran a hand over his face in frustration. "Do you realise just how dangerous these things are? Any one of them could kill you, you know."

Harry scratched at the back of his neck in a not-at-all endearing way. "Well, they are all under containment spells."

"But those are only for _one_ object, not this many."

"Yes, well, there’s a containment spell on each one."

He let out a frustrated sigh. "Didn’t you learn anything in school?"

"What?" He looked offended, but frankly Draco was getting himself too worked up to care.

"Remember Snape telling us about how potions aren’t just the sum of the individual components? That they become more when mixed together?"

"Yes."

"The same goes for spells. When in close proximity, spells – particularly those of the dark variety – react with one another, creating something more. Something stronger." He watched understanding dawn on Harry’s face. "Tell me you don’t feel the clawing of the magic in this room."

He nodded. "I do. But I guess I just thought it was the containment spells themselves."

"No." Draco closed his eyes and concentrated. "It’s coming from everywhere. The magic is trying to break free from the barriers placed around it. Frankly, I’m surprised it hasn’t succeeded before now."

"So it’s dangerous?"

"Very."

"Let’s get you out of here." Harry’s composure faltered and he grabbed Draco’s arm. "I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I never would have --"

Draco pulled back his arm. "Honestly!" he said, not sure whether to laugh or scream at the man. "That’s why you hired me, isn’t it? To get rid of the dark magic?"

"Well, yes. But I didn’t know --"

"Didn’t know it would be dangerous? It’s _dark_ magic. It’s dangerous by definition."

"I know that," he said indignantly. "But I didn’t realise it was _that_ dangerous or I never would have suggested it."

This time Draco didn’t hold back his laughter. "You really are an idiot, aren’t you?"

"Hey!"

"You care only about other people. You’ve been living here for how long now? With all of this dark magic – that no one you know seems to have been able to remove – just waiting to escape. But when you think it might harm someone else, you’re all up in arms."

"I don’t expect you to risk your own life just to rid me of some dark objects."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Potter? Do you fancy me some Gryffindor hero? Of course I’m not going to risk my life. Well, beyond the usual when dealing with dark objects." At his confused expression, Draco elaborated. "We will add some additional high-level protective spells and some barriers to prevent the magic from interacting. Then I’ll set to work immediately to rid you of this."

"Are you sure?"

"Oh, for the love of --" Now Draco really wanted to smack the man. "I am here to do a job. I mean to do it and do it well. I am _Very Good_ at this and mean to prove that to you." He waited for an acknowledging nod before continuing. "I may need your assistance from time to time, for particularly difficult spells, if you are amenable." He pondered the possibilities and thought that the authorities might rather avoid putting the saviour at risk. "Or I’m sure Kreacher would be willing --"

"I’ll do it."

Draco chuckled. "Of course you will. Ever the brave Gryffindor."

Harry smirked. "Guilty as charged."

"Anyway ... I’d say we can secure the place by the end of today – possibly sooner – and I can get straight to work after that."

Harry looked around the room, worry pouring off him in waves. Without even thinking, Draco gave his shoulder a squeeze. "I’ve had people over here lots of times," Harry said. The pained expression in his eyes tugged at Draco’s heart.  Honestly, he was turning into a Hufflepuff, for Merlin’s sake.  "And I brought you here to live." He looked positively stricken. "I didn’t know."

Draco’s anger burned inside him. "How the hell could you be expected to know? I blame Dumbledore." At Harry’s perplexed look, he explained. "He was supposedly the greatest,, strongest, most all-knowing wizard of our age? How the hell could he have put you through what he did, then leave you with this after all you’d done?" He took a few calming breaths as he felt his magic surge inside him. He might not be Harry, but he’d been known to lob a few trinkets across the room from time to time when he’d been in a rage.

"Actually, Dumbledore was the one who’d put the extra protection on the room. And most of the objects were brought here after he was ... gone."

"Well then." Draco was seriously pissed off now. He needed someone to blame for this. "Wasn’t the Minister in the Order?"

"Kingsley? Yeah, but I don’t think he knew about all this." Harry swept his hand around the room. "He just knew what Dumbledore did. He didn’t really spend much time here. I think word just got around that this was the place to bring stuff and it all just piled up. There’s extra protection on the room itself – you probably felt it as you came through the door – and each object was contained, so no one would have known it was a problem."

Draco tried to calm himself, but it was a difficult task. He didn’t like that there was no one to blame, no one to direct his anger towards. Harry’s laughter broke into his musings. "What’s so funny?" he barked.

"You." He continued to laugh. "You look so very pissed off on my behalf. Who’d have thought?"

Draco’s lips twitched but he refused to laugh outright. "Shut up, Potter, and let’s get to work."

***

On hearing voices below, Draco finished the containment spell he was working on and set the object aside. He’d been at this for close to a month now, and the spells were stubborn.  He looked over, satisfied, at a collection of objects that were now curse-free.  Most were Harry’s, but there were a good number of ones the Ministry had sent over as well.  He suspected Harry had pushed for more, but – much as his pride wanted to argue the point – he couldn’t help but feel grateful to the git for arranging this extra work.  It would go a long way towards filling his days and getting a good review for his three-month check-in.  And based on the ever-increasing flow of work from the Ministry, he might even be able to extend the jobs beyond that time.

Brushing off the dust, he stood up.  Once out of the attic room and free to cast spells without worrying about their interaction with the objects still cursed, he cleaned the remainder of the dirt from his robes with a wave of his wand.  The voices grew louder and carried up the stairs; as he approached the sitting room, he recognised them as those of the weasel and Harry.  Neither sounded happy. 

"I can’t believe you quit the Aurors for the ferret."

"Shut up!  Besides, you know I wasn’t loving it."

"What I know is that you were top in most classes, and close in others. Then the ferret needed something and next thing I see is my best mate quitting what he’d been dreaming about for years. Not to mention leaving me without a partner for more than a month now."

"That’s not what happened and you know it."

"Do I?  Because that’s how I see it.  Now he’s free, has a job and a place to live, and what have you got? An ungrateful little shit of a roommate and not much else."

"Ron --"

Harry’s voice warned of an imminent explosion, but apparently the weasel was too daft to recognise that. "No, Harry. This is bullshit. You should just send him back to _where he belongs_ and wash your hands of the whole mess. You’ve paid him and his mother back over and over and over again, and for what?"

"Shhh."

"No! I don’t care if the stupid ferret hears me. It’s high time he knows that not everyone is at his beck and call. Not everyone will give up their _whole fucking lives_ for him. Not everyone thinks he deserves to be anywhere but rotting in jail."

A rumbling shook the wall Draco was leaning on, and he could picture the objects in the room rattling on their shelves, itching to be free and fling themselves across the room.  He shuddered.  Bloody hell, but Harry’s errant magic sent a not entirely unpleasant sensation through him.

"Draco." For a moment he thought he’d been caught eavesdropping, but Harry was just pacing himself, trying to stay calm. "Malfoy does not deserve Azkaban."

"He tried to kill me. And Katie. Nearly succeeded, too."

"He wasn’t trying to kill either of you, and you know it."

"Dumbledore, then."

"What he was _trying_ to do was keep his parents alive. In the end, he couldn’t do what Voldemort had ordered him to do, and I’m sick to death of having this argument with you. You know what happened and I’ve made my decision."

"Well, I don’t like it."

" _You_ don’t have to like it. It’s _my_ decision. It’s _my_ house."

"It’s a stupid decision."

"Really?" The rumbling of objects became louder. "I had no idea how you felt, what with the fifty times we’ve gone over this already."

"Well, it is."

"That’s your opinion."

"That’s everyone’s opinion."

"Well, it’s not mine, and given that it’s my choice to make, _everyone_ can just sod off and keep their opinions to themselves. Something you should try once in awhile."

_What the --?  Harry was defending him to the weasel?  No wonder the idiot was pissed._

"I wouldn’t be much of a friend if I didn’t help you see what’s right in front of you."

The rumbling eased a bit. "Look, Ron, I know you’re trying to help me. Really, I do. But you’ve made your opinion known. I hear you. I get it; I really do. But you don’t know Draco."

"Pfft! Who’d want to?"

The rumbling began again. "I do." The weasel snorted. "That’s right. Don’t look at me like that. I _want_ to know him. To know the person I dismissed as a child. To know the person he might have been if he hadn’t been raised by an asshole like Lucius Malfoy."

"You’re lost."

"You know what, Ron?  Fine. You have your mind made up and that’s your decision. And this is mine. I think you should leave."

"But we’re supposed to meet everyone --"

"You go on without me. I’m not in the mood."

"So you’d rather stay here?"

"Right now? Yeah, I would."

"With him?"

The rattling slowed before stopping altogether and Draco held his breath.  "Yes."

_Well, fuck._

"Fuck you, Harry." The Floo whooshed and Weasley’s voice hollered, "The Iron Dragon," then nothing.

Silence pressed in, heavy and ominous, wrapping around Draco like Devil’s Snare, squeezing until the pain became unbearable. He didn’t know what had just happened, but he found himself unable to breathe. He needed to get to his room. Now.

He took a step towards the stairs and the floor creaked. Of course it did. _Fuck._

"Draco?" _Double fuck._ Harry emerged from the sitting room, concern radiating off him.   "How much of that did you hear?"

Words wouldn’t form and panic bubbled inside Draco. Harry was bound to kick him out now. First his best mate told him to fuck off – because of Draco. Now Harry caught him lurking about, just like he might have done during school. Only now the stakes were so very much higher and Harry held the upper hand. And what a hand it was. 

He cleared his throat and decided to minimise his embarrassment. Better he take the initiative and not wait for Harry to utter the words. "I’ll just pack my things."

He started towards the stairs, but an arm reached out to stop him. "What are you talking about?"

"I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to listen in, but --"

Harry’s hand waved away whatever else Draco was going to say. Good thing, too, since he wasn’t entirely sure his skills at manipulating the truth – okay, lying – could get him out of the current situation anyway. "It’s not like you could help it.  Ron was being an arse." That stopped Draco. "And loud enough that the neighbours up the street probably heard him, Fidelius or no."

Draco blinked dumbly. He wanted very much to agree about the weasel, but thought better of it.

"Look, I’m sorry about that. Ron shouldn’t have --"

Laughter bubbled up inside Draco until he couldn’t hold back. Not even Harry’s scowl, and the knowledge that the man could send him back to prison with a few words, could keep it from escaping. "Give me a minute." He drew a few deep breaths to regain control. "Just a minute."

The stupefied look on Potter’s face nearly set him off again, it reminded Draco so much of Potions class, of the joy he used to get from Snape’s torment of Potter.  The ache of loss – Snape, their youth, their innocence and so much more – allowed him to school his features. He walked into the sitting room and relaxed onto the sofa. "Thanks for that, Potter. I needed a laugh."

Harry followed him and sat on the other end of the sofa, eyeing Draco warily. "Are you okay? It seems you may have hit your head or something."

Draco glared, but knew from the twitching of his lips that it held no venom. "It’s just ... well, the idea of one of us apologising to the other is absurd in itself, but both of us? In the same conversation? It just struck me as particularly funny all of a sudden."

Potter’s lip twitched but his frown remained. "I don’t really see this as being funny."

"Oh, it’s not," Draco assured him. "Nothing about this situation is remotely funny." Potter scowled some more. "But it is absurd. Think about it. Weasley comes in to tell you what you already know: that you shouldn’t trust me, that I don’t deserve your help, that I should pay for what I did. I find myself – for the first time in my life – agreeing with him and apologising to you. Then you – for reasons known only to yourself, I’m sure – apologise to me because Weasley said what he was thinking. It was all just too much."

Harry smiled then, and Draco marvelled at how alive his face looked in that moment. How had he never noticed that before? He supposed a smile like that hadn’t been directed at him before, but still. Harry had a nice face and Draco found himself annoyed that he’d missed out on that.  His green eyes bore into Draco’s.  "You’re certifiable, you know that?"

"Excuse me?"

"Muggle expression." Draco stared, waiting for more. "It means you’re crazy enough for a doctor – Muggle Healer – to certify that you’re mad."

Draco thought about that and shrugged. "Says the man who has taken a convicted criminal into his home, given said criminal a job, and apparently put his entire life on hold for a man who never so much as had a kind word to say to him or any of his friends."

Harry laughed. "Touche."

"We’re a pair, aren’t we?"

An expression Draco couldn’t name flashed across Harry’s face; an instant later it was gone. A moment longer and Draco wondered if it had ever been there. Harry narrowed his eyes and stared into Draco’s. "I’m not sending you back."

"Okay?"

"I mean it. No matter what Ron or anyone else says, I believe you had a rotten hand dealt to you and that you did what you thought you had to do to survive."

"I’m not a good person, Potter."

"It’s Harry, and I think you are."

"You’re wrong."

"So I’ve been told." His eyes twinkled as he smiled that smile again, and Draco didn’t know why it affected him so much. "But I think I’m right about this." He stood up and reached out for Draco’s hand. Draco took it and Harry pulled him to his feet but didn’t release his grip. "I know we don’t agree on a lot of things, and we had a really shitty start between us, but ..." He looked down at their joined hands, squeezed Draco’s and looked up at him. "But I’d like for us to start again. What do you say, Draco? Friends?"

All at once he was eleven years old again. All he’d ever wanted was happening right now. This boy he’d heard about his whole life, a boy who was so strong that he’d defeated the Dark Lord when he was just a baby, was here and wanted to be his friend. He frowned at their joined hands – hands of men, not boys. Young men who had been through a lifetime of pain and suffering in so few years. Men who had come out the other side and could now, gods willing, make a new start. They couldn’t turn back the clock, but they could look to the future with so much more hope than those young boys had faced when they had first met.

Harry’s hand loosened and his smile fell as Draco took far too long to respond. There was no guard there now to whisk him away before Draco could answer and he had to do something.  Say something.  He grasped Harry’s hand then, in both of his, and smiled. "I’d like that," he said. "Harry."

***

For the next few weeks, they settled into a routine.  They shared meals most days, though lunches were hit and miss, depending on what each of them was doing.  Harry flitted off here and there – responding to calls for his appearance at this or that event, saving crups and kissing babies or other such nonsense that young heroes are called upon to do – and Draco spent his days in the attic, ridding the place of all manner of dark magic.

He’d been sceptical at first, wondering what could possibly keep him busy for three months, but it didn’t take long for him to imagine it doing just that.  Thankfully, Walburga had helped him with some of the Black specialties. It turned out that many of those spells could only be broken by someone with Black blood – or someone so skilled at the dark arts that they could break through the enchantments. Fortunately, Draco was both, and with the added tips from his aunt, he was able to speed through a fair number of the Grimmauld items, which gave him enough of a sense of accomplishment not to feel overwhelmed by the task set to him.

On several occasions, he found himself faced with spells too strong or too dangerous to risk pressing through them on his own, and Harry was more than willing to assist. Draco was pleased to find him not only a willing but capable assistant, and he found they worked well together. He was amused by the thought of his younger self’s reaction to that bit of information. And he laughed outright when picturing his father hearing how well the two of them got on.

But on the most part, they spent their days doing their own tasks and their evenings relaxing together. He dared not ask what Harry had done before he came to stay there, for fear he’d go back to that routine and leave Draco on his own. Not that he’d mind a bit of time to himself, but he was still wary of going out on his own, particularly without a disguise, and – as strange as it seemed – he and Harry got on very well without all that nasty war business, competing ideals and the all important inter-house rivalry at school.

Harry was unexpectedly intelligent and easy to talk to. They had a surprising number of things in common and Draco found himself wondering, more often than not, how things might have been different, had they not faced a war at such a young age, and had they not had others pulling their strings in competing directions. Though no doubt owing, at least in part, to the absence of his own friends to spend time with, Draco found, much to his surprise, that he looked forward to their evenings together. 

It didn’t hurt that Harry was easy on the eyes. Draco had long ago come to grips with his own sexuality and more recently with his attraction to Harry. He’d done his best to brush that aside, figuring that practically everyone in the wizarding world had likely harboured an attraction to the hero, but then Harry had to go and save his life. More than once. And testify for his mother and him. And then do whatever the hell he was doing now. Saying they should be friends. Giving him ... well, giving him his life back essentially. Salazar, it was getting harder and harder to suppress his attraction and the longer he lived here with Harry, the less about physical attraction and the more about something deeper than that it was becoming. He had to be careful there, though. He had no desire to scare Harry off and he couldn’t imagine how awkward it would be to live under the same roof if all Harry wanted to do was get as far away from him as possible.

He needed something else to occupy his time besides thoughts of Harry. Which was one of the reasons he was looking forward to seeing his mother. He’d wanted to see her right away, but he’d only been able to send owls to her since he’d been released. Harry no longer had access, not even for Floo calls, so Draco had had to wait until an Auror was available to supervise his visit. Fortunately, that visit was coming up soon, and hopefully he could start visiting on a regular basis. Get him out of the house, somewhere where he could be himself. Let him breathe. Give him space to sort out his thoughts where he wasn’t surrounded by all things Harry.

***

The next time Weasley stopped by the house, Harry was in the shower.  He’d been looking more tired lately, and Draco suspected the rift between him and Weasley was a big part of that. Harry hadn’t said anything, but Draco could tell. When he’d become so good at reading the other man’s moods, he didn’t know, but he couldn’t just ignore the facts.  

Hesitant at first, Draco decided to confront the git.  "Look, Weasel, we need to talk."

Weasley’s eyes narrowed but not before Draco caught him glancing upstairs. Concerned that Harry would catch them fighting, maybe?

"He’s in the shower. He’ll be down shortly."

He sat on the chair at the far side of the room, giving himself a clear view of the entire room. Auror training, perhaps? "I’ll just wait here then."

Draco shrugged. "Suit yourself." He caught the movement of Weasley’s fingers, probably itching to grab his wand and hex Draco. He sighed. Might as well get this over with. "Look, I know you’re not happy about the current situation." Weasley rolled his eyes but said nothing. "If it makes you feel any better, I can’t do anything to Harry or I go back to prison. Not that I would want to, after everything, but even if I did, I’m not stupid enough to risk my own freedom by doing anything to undermine him." Weasley crossed his arms over his chest, no doubt trying to look intimidating. "I don’t expect you to trust me."

"Good, because I never will."

"Fair enough." Draco wasn’t sure what he’d expected to accomplish. He sighed. "But no matter what I said or did in the past, I know that Harry’s not an idiot. I doubt he trusts me either, and he probably never really lets his guard down, even if it looks like he does." Weasley relaxed a bit, uncrossing his arms as he leaned forward, blue eyes sizing Draco up. "I have no plans to hurt him or manipulate him, whatever you and the rest of your friends think. He’s done a lot for me – my mother too – and I won’t soon forget it. Besides, I don’t know what you expect I could possibly do to him. In case it’s escaped your notice, he’s more powerful than I am, even without monitoring spells on my wand."

Still Weasley said nothing.

"Come on.  We both know he doesn’t give a shit about me. I’m just his pet project of the month."  Much as Draco hoped that wasn’t the case, he couldn’t help but fear it was.

Weasley snorted. "More like the year," he grumbled.

"Whatever. The point is that he will grow tired of this project soon enough. He won’t give up because he’s a stubborn git, but once my parole is over and I have a life to move on with, he’ll bid me a fond farewell and move on to his next person to save."  Draco knew that would hurt – he was trying not to let himself grow close to Harry, but … well, the git was getting under his skin.  But he’d be damned if he’d give Weasley the satisfaction of knowing that.

Weasley leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his legs. "You think you’re his current project?"

Draco frowned. What else could he be?  Harry claimed he wanted to be friends, and they were now, of a sort, but who was he kidding?  Once the house and its contents were free of dark magic, and Draco’s parole was over, there would be no reason for him to stay at Grimmauld Place.  Then, once he left, when Harry came to his senses, he’d remember that Draco had nothing to offer him and would be better off a memory.  

"Of course I am. And I know you hate me – with due cause, I know – but I’m nothing to you. I’m just some pathetic former Death Eater that wasn’t much of one at that. Harry needs to save someone and I’m it for now. You’ll have your best mate back in no time and he’ll go about his life and forget all about me."  It pained him to say the words, but he kept his voice steady.  "I’m no threat to you, Weasley, so why are you making things hard for him?"

Weasel’s mouth hung open and he blinked at Draco. He looked even stupider than usual.

Draco huffed. "He’s doing what he thinks is right and he doesn’t need you giving him grief over it. I’ll find something to do and some other place to live and your life can go back to normal. Meanwhile, just cut him some slack, yeah?"

When no response was forthcoming, Draco waved his hand in front of the weasel. "Did you hear me?"

Weasley nodded and finally managed to close his mouth. "Yeah. Got it."

Draco nodded and left the room. _Honestly_ , how did a witch as brilliant as Granger end up with a dolt like Weasley? Wonders never ceased.

***

When Harry came home that night, he stumbled out of the Floo, squinted at the light of the room, then tried vainly to focus. "Draco?"

Draco looked up from the book he was reading. He caught a rather strong waft of alcohol coming from Harry’s direction and smirked. "I take it you had a good time?"

Harry smiled and crossed the room, plunking himself down on the sofa next to Draco. "Mm hmm. Was good to see them all again."

Draco put a mark in his book and set it aside. "I haven’t seen you so relaxed in a while."

Harry narrowed his eyes and leaned in a little too close. "You said something to Ron tonight."

"I may have. Why? What did he say?"

He grinned. "He said that maybe he was wrong about you."

Draco’s eyes widened. "Wrong about what?"

He threw up his hands in an exaggerated way and huffed out a breath. "Dunno. Jus’ said maybe you weren’t as big a git as he’d always thought."

Draco laughed. "Obviously he had a lot to drink tonight too."

Harry scowled like only the inebriated can. "Well, yeah." Draco stifled a chuckle. "But he said that _before_ we got into our cups. Said something about you giving him shit because he gave me a hard time." He strained as he drew on more details of the conversation. "Said you were worried about me." He blinked, puzzled, and reminded Draco of a crup his father had had when he was a boy. "Were you worried about me?"

Draco waved him off. "It’s nothing." Harry tilted his head and did not look at all adorable. "It’s just that you’ve been looking worn out ever since your fight with the weasel. When I saw him, I thought someone ought to tell him how much of a tosser he was being."

Harry smiled again and scooted even closer to Draco. Before he could say anything else, Harry reached up and rested his hand on Draco’s cheek. His eyes, not quite focussed, filled Draco’s vision and held him in place, even more than the steadying hand. "No one ever worries about me."

Before Draco could finish the thought that this was a crying shame, a crime even, Harry closed the distance and pressed their lips together. Draco froze in place, too stunned to respond but unwilling to pull away.

His lack of response didn’t matter, as it turned out, because Harry drew back then, smiled, and proceeded to curl himself around Draco’s waist and fall asleep, head in Draco’s lap and a contented smile on his face.

***  
Harry woke the next morning on the sofa, a comforter tucked around him, wondering how he’d got there. The last thing he remembered was Neville pushing him into the Floo. He sat up – too quickly, if the shooting pain in his head was any indication – and saw a glass of water, a potion vial and a note on the coffee table.

_Harry,_

_Drink the water and the hangover potion. I suspect you’ll need them both._

_I have my visit with my mother this morning and I had to meet the Auror at the Ministry for ten o’clock. I should be back before noon._

_Draco_

Harry looked at the clock and, seeing it had just gone ten, he swallowed the potion, drank the water and went back to sleep.

When next he woke it was with the realisation that he’d done Something Very Stupid. Fuck. What had he been thinking? Had he really kissed Draco or had he imagined that? He recalled curling up on the sofa and he _had_ woken up there this morning.

He dragged himself to the kitchen to make a strong cup of tea. Then he’d have a shower and try to figure out how to fix this mess he’d made.

***

When Draco stepped out of the Floo, a huge smile on his face that carried, for once, to his eyes, all worries about the night before fled.

"How was the visit?"

"Fantastic!"  He unwrapped his scarf and tossed it on the chair by the fireplace, his cloak following in the same manner.  "It was wonderful to see her.  It’s been so long."

"I’m sure she was pleased."

He nodded, still grinning.  "We’re hoping to make it a regular thing, bi-weekly if the Aurors can spare someone that often."

"That’s great, Draco.  I’m happy for you both."

He filled Harry in on the news since last he’d visited Narcissa, and extended her greetings to him as well.

"I’m no longer on the approved list of visitors," Harry explained, "since I left Auror training."

"We know that.  Thank you for visiting while you could.  I really appreciated it, as did she."

He recalled the trepidation he’d had the first time.  Since then, though, it had grown easier and Narcissa was a pleasant host.  "It wasn’t a hardship."

"Still, it meant a lot to both of us."

He motioned for Draco to sit down.  He’d been pacing while talking, all pent up energy.  "Never mind that.  How is she?"

His face sobered a bit.  "As well as can be expected, I suppose.  She’s going a little stir-crazy there, but her house arrest will be done soon enough."

"Another six months or so, yeah?"

"Closer to five, actually, so soon."

Of course.  Draco had already been out for some time; soon enough they’d be reporting back to the Council.  Returning to the present, he asked, "What’s her first order of business once it’s lifted?"

"Besides having me back home?" he said with a grin.  Harry’s gut clenched.  He hadn’t really given thought to the fact that Draco would no longer need a place to stay once Narcissa’s house arrest was over.  Of course he’d want to go back home.  Who wouldn’t?  "She said she’s looking forward to going to France."  He frowned.  "I think, if it weren’t for me, she’d move there."

"Really?  She’d leave the manor?"

He nodded.  "It holds a lot of awful memories for all of us.  I think she’d have left after the war and never looked back if she hadn’t been confined to the place as punishment for her part in things."

"And what about you?"

He shuddered.  "It was amazing to see her, and I suppose it was nice to see the place, but I’m not sure it’ll ever feel like home again."

"Maybe that’ll change in time."

"Perhaps."  He tilted his head slightly and asked, "Tell me, Harry, what do you think of when you go there?"

Hermione’s screams called to him once more.  Luna and Mr Ollivander and Dean.  Wormtail’s hand choking himself to death.  Bellatrix laughing madly and throwing the dagger.  And Dobby.  He looked at Draco to find him smiling ruefully.

"That’s what I thought.  Now try imagining almost two years under that roof with a madman, his cronies, and my nutjob aunt running the place and my father reduced to a snivelling drunk.  I know that my mother wants me home, but it was all I could do to walk over the threshold today."

Harry could relate.  "But you did.  For your mum.  And you’ll do it again."

"Of course I will."

"And it’ll get easier."

"I suppose.  And she’s had some rooms redecorated, so they don’t immediately evoke the memories."  Harry had been relieved at that as well.  Draco looked out the window, probably seeing the manor back before Voldemort.  "But then that’s not my home either, is it?"  He continued to stare outside.  "I don’t think I can ever go back there to live.  I think maybe it would be best if my mother did go to France once she’s free to travel.  My parole won’t last forever and we can Floo call in the meantime."

Harry felt thrown by all this future planning.  Truth be told, he hadn’t given much thought to when Draco would have his own place to live again.  "Well, you’ll have a place to stay here as long as you need it."  He couldn’t look at him as he said that.  Perhaps afraid of his response?  Of course Draco would want to get out of there as soon as possible.  But France?  France was far.  

"You really mean that, don’t you?"  The curious look on his face threw Harry.  Had he thought Harry hadn’t meant it when he’d originally offered for him to stay?

He frowned.  "I told you that before.  Nothing’s changed."  Only everything had.  And Harry didn’t know when that had happened or what to do about it.  He thought of Draco being in another country and, even though he was stood in front of him this very moment, he couldn’t help but feel him slipping away.  But he knew that Draco would have more prospects there, and Harry couldn’t begrudge him that, after all he’d been through.  Forcing a smile he hoped didn’t look like a grimace, he said, "There’s also the potions master there.  The one who offered you an apprenticeship with him."

Draco smiled once more at that. "Well, who knows if that job will be there by the time I can travel? But I did get more details from Mother today." He jumped up and began pacing again, his eyes sparkling as he launched into all the potions the man brewed. He was apparently some hotshot in Paris and it would be quite the honour to work for him. Definitely something for one’s CV. "I still can’t believe he agreed to hire me!’

Harry couldn’t keep the grin from his own face.  "Why not? I mean you’re brilliant at potions. What potions master wouldn’t want you under his wing?"

"Well, obviously. But --" He stopped pacing and stared down at Harry, his smile becoming even wider. "Wait. Did you just say I"m _brilliant_ at potions?"

"Yeah, yeah." Harry felt his cheeks heat up. "Don’t let it go to your head. You’ve enough of an ego as it is." This was true in the past, but lately ... well, he rather thought Draco could use a bit of ego stroking these days.

Draco stepped closer and put his hand on Harry’s chest. He could feel his heart beating and wondered if Draco did too. "Careful, Potter, people might actually think you care what happens to me."

Harry put his hand over Draco’s and heard the other man’s breath hitch. He looked up into the grey eyes staring in wonder at him. "I do care. And you are brilliant at potions. And it’s great to see you happy – _really_ happy about something." He reluctantly withdrew his hand and Draco let his fall back to his side. "In fact, why don’t you set up a potions lab here?"

"Here?"

Harry chuckled. It was a crazy, mad idea, but it was something he could do for Draco.  And for some reason, that had become important to Harry.  "Yup, here. There’s room in the basement or, if you think it’s a better idea, we could convert the shed out back for you."

He gave Harry another of his curious looks. "I can’t let you do that for me; it’s too much."

"You can and you will. Besides, it’s not that big a deal."

Draco cleared his throat. "I presume you have no idea what you’re in for – not a surprise, given your dismal performance in the lab in the past."

"Hey!"

He snorted. "It’s true and we both know it. You had that fluke of a year with Slughorn, something that still bewilders me, but besides that, you really were rather atrocious at potions."

He thought about the Half-Blood Prince, but decided to keep that to himself.  For now, anyway.  "I didn’t do so poorly in Auror training." Harry scowled. "And I have more money than I know what to do with, so it really isn’t a big deal."

He sat himself down on the sofa again, mimicking defeat.  "Oh, alright, if it means you’ll stop pouting. Perhaps you can show me these mad skills of yours if we put together this lab of yours." Harry smiled. "And, for the record, it’s a big deal to me."

"So then be sure to make a big name for yourself and I can be comforted by the fact that I knew you when ... and that I might have helped you, even just a little bit, in my own way."

Draco laughed again and Harry found he liked that sound very much. "You really are a Hufflepuff sometimes, Potter."

"Oh, shut up." He shoved his shoulder into Draco’s, nearly toppling him. "Now tell me more about your visit with your mother. We can figure out the lab business tomorrow."

That night, as he lay awake in bed, Harry was glad he hadn’t said anything about the kiss.  Or, rather, the non-kiss.  Draco, too, hadn’t mentioned it, so either he’d dreamt the whole incident or Draco wasn’t interested and was being kind enough not to mention Harry’s indiscretion. Either way, the whole business was best left as That Which Must Not Be Spoken. He’d just have to be sure not to have too much to drink around Draco. His attraction to the man could evidently not be contained when his guard was down.

***

Over the next month, Draco’s mood improved tremendously as did his self confidence. After chiming in with a few restrictions, the Ministry approved the lab setup in the former shed out back and, sure to comply with the restrictions, they’d had it functional in a couple of weeks.  In addition to his ongoing curse-breaking work, he’d started going over some of his NEWT-level potions.  He’d even let Harry help out a few times after ascertaining that he wasn’t, in fact, a complete idiot in the lab.

Harry sat nervously waiting for Draco to return from his latest visit to the manor.  He’d also planned to stop by the apothecary to pick up some potions ingredients, but the time was stretching out so long that Harry was going spare.

When at last the Floo whooshed and Draco stepped out, he had to hold himself back from charging the man.  "Have a good time?" he asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

Draco laughed.  "Waiting for me, were you?"

"No, why?  Why would you ask that?"

He looked down at the book Harry was pretending to read.  It was upside down.  He tossed the book aside as his cheeks reddened.  "Okay, fine.  I was waiting for you."

"You really do need to get a life, Potter."

"Shut it, you.  I have a surprise."

He put down his parcels and raised a brow.  "What kind of surprise?"

Harry grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him towards the back of the house.  "Just come with me and you’ll see."

He manhandled Draco all the way out to the lab, then stood nervously staring at the door.

Draco disengaged his arm and huffed. "It’s cold out here. Are you going to open the door or what?"

"You do it," Harry said, suddenly not sure what Draco’s reaction would be. Narcissa had insisted he would appreciate the gesture, and Harry had thought so too – obviously, as he’d come up with the idea in the first place – but the more he thought about it, the less sure he was. Merlin knew _he’d_ hate it, but this was about Draco, not himself.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Very well." He opened the door and entered the inner sanctum.

"Well, it’s about time! Potter said you’d be here a good half hour ago. I can’t just stand around here all day, you know."

"Severus?" Draco’s eyes widened at the sight of his favourite professor and former protector, in life-size paint, hanging on the wall opposite his main work space. "What are you doing here?"

"Salazar, Draco, has living here with Potter – yes, yes, he’s told me all about the current ... arrangements, and I have to say it will take some time to adjust to that, but back to the matter at hand – has living here dulled your mind? I’m obviously here to finish your education."

"Obviously," Draco deadpanned. He turned to Harry who jumped back at the movement, not sure what to expect. "You did this?"

"Mm hmm." Harry nodded. "With a little help from your mother."

"Mother?" Harry nodded again. "She knew about this?"

"She apparently – I don’t know how or why, and I didn’t ask; not sure I really want to know, to be honest – had this portrait of Snape and, when I suggested that I wanted to do this, she was more than happy to oblige."

"Nothing like a greeting for your old professor and headmaster," Snape grumbled.

Draco waved a dismissive hand at the portrait. "Yes, yes. Greetings and welcome. Wonderful to see you, Severus." He turned back to Harry. "You did this? For me?"

Harry shrugged. "You were so excited about the lab, and understandably frustrated about not being able to take up that post with what’s-his-name in Paris."

"Not Ducharmes?" Snape asked.

Draco grinned, looking rather pleased with himself. "The very same."

"That’s rather a coup, Draco."

His smile turned smug. "Indeed. Did you know he hasn’t taken on an apprentice in years?"

"I’m pleased for you."

His smile grew serious. "I have you to thank for that, sir."

"Nonsense. I’ll have none of this false modesty. I will take credit for honing your skills, but potion making is an art that comes naturally to you, Draco. You worked hard and have a natural talent. I shall not abide you not taking the appropriate accolades."

"Thank you, sir." The smile dropped from his face entirely and his hands balled into fists at his sides. "Alas, the Council presumes I’m going to plot the next takeover of the wizarding world, should I be allowed to leave the country."

"Ah. I should like to say that I am surprised, but it seems the fools are still running the show."

"Indeed." He turned his attention back to Harry, closing the distance between them until Harry had to back up. "Meanwhile, I cannot believe – You brought Snape _here_. For _me._ "

Harry’s back hit the wall but Draco kept moving until he’d effectively trapped Harry. He swallowed. "I did."

"But you didn’t think to ask me first?"

"I thought it would be a nice surprise."

"A nice surprise?"

"Mm hmm. For you anyway." Harry wasn’t so sure _he_ wanted Snape under his roof, war hero or no – he still made Harry nervous – but at least he’d be out here in the lab, away from Harry most of the time. In his own defence, he added, "Your mother thought so too."

"And you consulted my mother behind my back." It wasn’t a question. Harry couldn’t tell if Draco was angry or not, but he couldn’t help the heat rising up his neck at their proximity. When Draco bit his lower lip, Harry’s eyes were drawn to his mouth and he licked his own lips in response. "That was very Slytherin of you, Harry."

"W-was it?"

He raised his hands and placed them on either side of Harry, boxing him in. Harry found he didn’t mind. "Oh, yes. Very sneaky."

He grinned crookedly and looked into Draco’s eyes, the stormy grey drawing him in. "I have my moments."

"Mm. Yes, you do." He leaned forward, bringing his mouth to Harry’s ear, his hair tickling Harry’s face. "And is this one of those moments?" he whispered.

A moan escaped from low in Harry’s throat, but still he wasn’t sure – couldn’t be sure. His body was on fire but he didn’t want to overstep. Draco was here because he had to be, not because he wanted to be. And Harry couldn’t – wouldn’t – take advantage of that, no matter how much he wanted to run his fingers through that hair and draw that snarky mouth to his. "That depends."

"On what?" Warm puffs of air on his neck sent shivers down Harry’s spine. Their bodies were nearly touching, so close that the slightest movement would bring them together. Harry forced himself to stand still.

"On you." Merlin, was that his own voice? It sounded raspy and raw and ... hungry.

Draco sucked in a breath through his teeth, his mouth still by Harry’s ear, his hair still tickling Harry’s nose, filling it with the scent of whatever expensive shampoo he preferred, one Harry found he liked very much. "Come on, Harry. You kissed me once." 

They’d never mentioned it, not in all the time since; they’d never talked about his stupid, drunk fumblings, but here it was. "That really happened?"

Draco chuckled, the rumbling sending delicious sensations through Harry’s entire body. "Mm hmm. I’d wondered if you even remembered. You never said anything. Never did it again."

"I wasn’t sure the memory was real. That it hadn’t been a dream."

Draco moved back to look at him then and Harry wanted to scream in frustration. "Don’t tell me it was just because you were drunk."

"It was," Harry admitted. Sober, he’d never have dared risk scaring Draco away or worse, making him feel uncomfortable or ... _obliged_. Draco’s body stiffened and a line of discontent – since when had Harry been able to interpret what such small details of Draco’s expressions meant? – formed between his brows. He needed to explain. "But it wasn’t. I mean ... I would never take advantage of the situation." He coughed as he realised he’d actually done just that, however innocently. "Except, apparently, when I’ve downed a vat of alcohol." Draco’s body relaxed again. "But I’ve wanted ..."

He tilted his head and in that moment he looked so _adorable_ Harry just wanted to grab him and snog him for all he was worth. "Yes?"

Harry rounded up some of his Gryffindor courage and drew himself up to his full height, looking directly into Draco’s eyes. Those eyes that couldn’t hide Draco’s true feelings. Those eyes that could pierce right through you when he was angry and tug at your heartstrings when he was hurting. Those eyes that had challenged Harry since they were boys and had beseeched him when under attack from Fiendfyre. Eyes that, right now, projected hope and – if Harry was not mistaken – the same desire he felt himself. He reached up and put a hand to his cheek. "I’ve wanted _you_." He ran his thumb over the smooth skin and smiled. "So much."

Draco closed the distance between them so quickly, Harry found himself once more pressed against the wall, only this time with no space between them, the warmth of Draco’s body against his own. 

Draco smiled back and his eyes glinted predatorily. Harry shivered and heat pooled in his groin. Draco’s answering hardness pressed against his caused them both to moan. "Me too."

And just like that, everything clicked into place. Harry finally – finally – allowed himself the pleasure he’d wanted for so long, longer than he was willing to admit to himself, even now. There’d be time for reflection later. Now he ran his hands through that silky hair, marvelling at the softness, and when Draco’s eyes fluttered shut, he brought their mouths together.

The soft slide of their lips and tentative teasing of their tongues was far gentler than he’d imagined their first real kiss would be – and yes, he could admit to imagining this moment many times before. They tentatively explored each other’s mouths as though afraid the other might run away, but from the first touch of Draco’s tongue to his, Harry was riveted to the spot. His insides thrummed with pleasure like he’d never felt before, not with anyone else. This felt right. Perfect. He marvelled at the taste, the smell, the feel of the man joined with him. He poured everything he had into that kiss and drew energy back from it. The feel of Draco’s body against his own, his hands mapping Harry’s back while holding him as close as possible, only heightened his pleasure. Why hadn’t they done this before? When Draco had first come to live with him? Hell, when they were back in school? How things could have been so different. But they were here now, and Harry couldn’t imagine anywhere else he’d want to be. Nothing could drag them apart now. 

"Ahem!"

They both groaned, unceremoniously pulled apart by a ghost. Or, rather, a portrait.

"I see you’ve come up for air," Snape drawled. His hand covered his eyes while he rubbed his temples. Could portraits even get headaches? He let out a long-suffering sigh. "Once more today, I find myself unsurprised."

They both turned incredulously to the painting. "Excuse me?" Draco said at the same time Harry said, "What?"

"Oh, come now," Snape scoffed. "The two of you pulling each other’s pigtails for years? This was as inevitable as Finnegan sneaking alcohol onto the grounds." They both stared, dumbfounded, at their former professor. "But just because I knew the eventuality of such things does _not_ mean I care to witness it taking place."

They began to fidget, the situation not quite as awkward as it might have been at school, but awkward nonetheless. "I’ll just leave you two to get reacquainted, then," Harry said. He didn’t want to leave Draco just then, not when they’d finally acted on whatever this was between then, but he’d brought Snape there for Draco, to help him get on with his life. He tugged at the edge of his shirt, hoping his interest was hidden well enough from the portrait’s prying eyes. "I’ll see you at supper, Draco?"

Draco smirked as he watched Harry’s hands, which – now that he thought about it – were probably calling more rather than less attention to his ... condition. He scowled at Draco who chuckled at his discomfort. Some things never changed. He shook his head. "We’ll pick this up later, Potter."

Harry smiled, his annoyance wiped away just like that. Probably a good thing they hadn’t started this back in school. Harry would have been felled by one look like that from Draco and Voldemort could have won without so much as a blink of interest on his part. Okay, maybe not. But it was probably for the best anyway. What was meant to be and all that rot. 

"Oh, for the love of Merlin, Potter. Wipe that ridiculous smile off your face and leave us to our business. That is, after all, why I’m here, is it not?"

Draco snorted and Harry glared at him. "Of course, professor."

***

The day of Draco’s follow-up hearing came quickly, but they were prepared. His lawyer felt confident that the extra conditions of his release would now be lifted, and he could be comfortable in the knowledge that, so long as he didn’t do anything foolish, he would not be returning to Azkaban.

The Chief Warlock once again called the proceedings to order. "Mr Malfoy, in the matter of your continued parole, we have before us an update. Are we to understand correctly that you have secured more permanent employment?"

Draco stood and faced the panel. "Yes, sir. I will continue to provide assistance to the Ministry on an as-needed basis, as a dark arts consultant and occasional curse breaker, and Headmistress McGonagall at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has offered me steady employment preparing potions for their stores and occasionally assisting the current Potions Master with his workload." He had both Harry and Severus to thank for setting that up.  But, no longer one to look a gift thestral in the mouth, he took it, if not in stride, at least with good grace. 

"And your place of residence?"

"I will continue to reside where I am now."

His lawyer stood to interject. "As per Mr Malfoy’s initial release agreement, the details of his place of residence remain under seal."

"Is there still a threat to his life?"

"The Ministry is hopeful that they are closer now to capturing the culprits. When that occurs, the defendant and all other parties agree to the unsealing of the details and the return of memories housed in the secure lock-box as previously approved."

"Very well then." He turned to each of the panel members present and they all nodded. "We have no further concerns at this time. Mr Malfoy, you are granted full parole. May we not see you back in this or any other courtroom in the future. The initial conditions of your parole remain in place."

"I understand and I have no intention to return."

"Very good. Did you have any questions for the Council?"

"The monitoring of my wand?" he asked. "That was to last six months."

"Yes. The spell lifts automatically upon the expiry date, six months from the date of your first release, or three months from today. Should the Aurors have reason to continue monitoring your magic at that time, they will need to reapply for permission and, if granted, reapply the spell. Any concerns you may have can be addressed to the Ministry directly."

"Thank you."

"If there are no more questions, this hearing is adjourned. Mr Malfoy, you are free to go."

Harry met him outside the courtroom, having no reason for being present for this session. He waited not so patiently for him to say goodbye to his lawyer before coming to stand before Harry, face a mask of indifference.

"Well?"

Draco’s smile lit the hall. "Full parole."

Harry resisted swooping him up into the air, but only just. They weren’t ready yet for everyone to know about their relationship, as new as it was and with the threat to Draco’s life still lingering. He settled instead for a slap on the back and a squeeze of his shoulder. "That’s great."

"It is."

"I think this calls for a celebration," Harry said.

"After I call Mother. The Ministry have arranged for a Floo-call."

"Of course."

As they made their way to the Auror office to make the call, Draco nudged Harry. "So, now that my life seems to be all sorted, don’t you think you ought to figure out what you want to do when you grow up, Hero Boy?"

"Maybe." Harry laughed and nudged him back. "But for now I have my hands full with not one but two snarky Slytherins under my roof, and a queue of people asking for help."

"You know, I reserve the right to pull out the boyfriend card anytime and demand that you start taking care of yourself, not just other people."

"Are you included in the _other people_?"

"Certainly not. After all, it’s your job now to take care of me." Harry lifted a brow. "As it is mine to look after you."

"Well, then. I guess I can’t argue with that."

Harry rather liked the sound of that. It was all still very new, only it wasn’t really. They’d known each other most of their lives, after all. But they’d take things slowly. Let people know gradually and see how everything worked out. For the time being, though, Harry would enjoy every moment they had together.

~ FIN ~

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! All comments are extremely welcome either here or on [Livejournal](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12122163).


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